


The Bond

by morningsound15



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Bella becomes a vampire way earlier than in the books, Blood and Violence, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, More Trigger Warnings Inside, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, also i ignore the stupid book things that don't fit with my plot, did i use this as an excuse to just rewrite all of twilight?, i'm not playing around with this, like for real, like we're at almost 50k words and they haven't even KISSED yet, maybe so, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-06-26 22:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15672528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningsound15/pseuds/morningsound15
Summary: “My mother always told me never to play with my food…” James says with a sigh as he crouches down. His knees brush the ground next to Bella’s head, and she has to work hard to suppress a shudder. “Of course,” he continues, his voice low and laced with a cruel kind of humor that only he can understand, “I killed my mother. So… I suppose her lessons are… null and void.”**When Bella gets attacked by James, Edward isn’t there to save her. The wounds Bella sustains are too severe, and there’s no way she’ll make it all the way to the hospital alive. Alice, as the only member of the Cullen family around, has no choice. In order to save Bella, she has to turn her.But things get messy when everyone starts to notice the strange connection Alice and Bella seem to have developed. Because nothing can break the bond between a vampire and their sire.They’re all about to find that out the hard way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I posted something on my Tumblr a few months ago about an old Alice/Bella fic I had written when I was like… 15. And then I got a bunch of messages about it and… decided to post it. Because apparently I’ve gone insane. So this is a silly little story I wrote back in like 2011/2012 and it’s more than a little ridiculous and melodramatic but maybe you’ll all get a kick out of it. I tried to edit it as best as I could but you’ll have to bear with me some of the writing is… yeah.
> 
> This is (obviously) AU. But everything from the first book stands pretty much as-written (with slight tweaks to character relationships and changes to the timeline; hopefully those will be easy to catch/spot) until the end of the book. After that, it diverges significantly.
> 
> Also, I’m trying something new with this story. Usually my chapters are insanely long, but I’ve decided to do this one in much shorter installments. Partly because that’s how I wrote it 6 years ago, and partly just because.
> 
> Rating may change in the future.
> 
> **
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS:** Some graphic depictions of violence, brief descriptions of torture, vivid scenes involving blood (including blood drinking), references to sexual assault, and (possible) sexual content in later chapters.

____________________

The ballet studio is completely covered in mirrors. Gigantic, floor-to-ceiling monstrosities that must have cost a ridiculous amount of money to purchase and maintain. Sheets of glass so heavy you’d need a team of five burly men just to lift them out of a delivery truck.

When Bella was younger, they mesmerized her. She would peer into the reflective surfaces and giggle as figures danced in and out of them. Her teachers would yell at her, reprimand her in class for daydreaming, because she would often get so distracted watching the other dancers in the mirror that she completely forgot the steps to her own performance. (Later, when puberty wrapped its clumsy, awkward hands around her body; when she shot up eight inches in two years to become the gangly, uncoordinated person she is today; when her acne started coming in and she hadn’t yet learned about the miracles of face wash, she avoided mirrors all together, to avoid the embarrassment of hating the way she looked. Back when she was never really keen on catching sight of her own appearance.)

When she walked into the studio today, in a foolish, desperate attempt to save her mother’s life, the mirrors mesmerized her again. When she was small, she thought there must have been thousands of them, reflecting and refracting her image back at her, a thousand times over. Now, of course, she sees that that’s not true. But in a room made of mirrors, it’s hard to parse through the cacophony of confusing visual stimuli.

She supposes that’s why she doesn’t see James coming towards her until it’s much too late.

She sees a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye and she only has enough time to turn on her heel before there are hands on her arms (cold and tough like steel) and she’s being launched through the air.

Bella screams as her back collides with the surface behind her. Shards of glass fly off and away, exploding outward from the impact of her body slamming into the wall. Some pass harmlessly over her, but others turn their unforgiving points against her, raking their jagged edges over her skin, piercing and slicing into her.

She slumps to the ground, her body weak and trembling, unable to support her any longer. There’s a sharp, screaming pain stabbing through her right side. Her fingers slip as they try to find purchase on the wound, but the first exploratory pressure has her stomach rolling and her lungs seizing. The muscles in her neck tighten at once, squeezing all the air out of her throat, and she’s certain for a moment that she’s going to pass out.

(She doesn’t, but she can tell right away that she’s broken a few ribs. Maybe even punctured a lung. It’s so hard to _breathe_.)

She looks up, her eyes bleary with unshed tears, and gazes into the mirrors across from her. Technically, she can see James. She can see about five of him. She’s not sure if it’s the head trauma or the optical illusions of the mirrors or some combination of the two, but her eyes are unfocused as she desperately tries to work out which image is real and which is reflection, as she tries to work out which version of the vampire is the one that’s attacking her.

Her lungs won’t inflate. Her breath won’t come. She’s woozy and light-headed with pain and with a probably concussion and she’s pretty sure she’s bleeding in more than a few places and all she can think is, _I’m going to die here._

Her attacker crosses over to her and smirks down at her, a malicious twinkle behind his red eyes. Even in the state she’s in, Bella has enough will and enough strength left in her to feebly scoot backwards. Her hands brace themselves against shards of glass, but she barely feels the sting of them puncturing her skin as she tries (futilely) to escape him.

But she’s injured, slow, and desperately fighting to maintain consciousness, and he crosses over to her in only a few short strides. James places his boot on her leg, effectively holding her in place. “Now now,” he hisses, bending down to be closer to her, “you don’t want to do that.” He sinks his weight down, and she screams once again when she feels the bones shatter. Her vision starts to go black.

All of her efforts are going into keeping herself alive and breathing. That’s all she can do. _Breathe,_ she thinks. _Just breathe._

He removes his foot and hovers over her, smirking down at her prone form, twitching on the floor beneath him. “My mother always told me never to play with my food…” James says with a sigh as he crouches down. His knees brush the ground next to Bella’s head, and she has to work hard to suppress a shudder. “Of course,” he continues, his voice low and laced with a cruel kind of humor only he can understand, “I killed my mother. So… I suppose her lessons are… _null and void_.”

He grins wickedly and delivers a sharp kick to her side. Bella’s ribs, already bruised and weak and aching, break in a few more spots. She can’t muster enough air to scream this time. All that comes out is a strangled gasp.

“This has been fun,” James says with a smug smile. “Though I have to say I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping it’d be a _little_ more difficult. For a human with a whole coven of protectors, you sure are easy to get alone.” His lip curls back over his teeth in a sinister snarl as he laughs. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this very much. What do you think your boyfriend is going to do when he finds you here, dead, your blood drained? Do you think he’ll hunt me down, try and tear me limb from limb? Will he try to avenge you? Or do you think he’ll kill himself with the grief of it all?” James shrugs. “Whatever the choice, I look forward to seeing it… _play out_.”

She would have shuddered at the way he said those words, but her arms and legs feel like lead. Her head is pounding inside of her skull and her brain, her traitorous brain, can’t seem to communicate with the rest of her body. She feels cold, and weak, and she’s trembling like a leaf. She thinks she might be going into shock. _I’m going to die here._

His cold hands ghost over her abdomen, already beginning to bruise as a result of the numerous fractured ribs she’s sustained. He breathes in once, deeply, his eyes rolling back into his head with a pleasure that makes Bella’s stomach heave. “Fear smells so _good_ ,” he hisses.

His dark eyes flash. The irises are nearly black, just a hint of ruby around the edges. His lips are right by her ear, his cold breath tickling her neck, and she tries to squirm away, but she can’t move. _I’m going to die._

“Any last words?” he asks in a mocking tone, already lowering his mouth to her neck. Bella tries to twist away from him, to mount any sort of final, feeble defense, but there’s no use. She’s too weak. His hand on her chest is holding her down, pressing her into the ground, and she can’t…

She’s going to die. She knows it with unparalleled certainty. She’s going to die.

Her eyes flutter open, and all she can manage, in her last moment and with her last breath, with the last shred of consciousness she has left, is one word: “Alice.”

James pulls back, startled and confused, a slight frown on his face. “Alice?” he asks, bewildered.

“That’s right,” a voice says from behind him, and James’ eyes widen fractionally before he’s gripped by the neck and yanked backwards, violently. His body goes flying, smashing into another wall of mirrors across from where Bella lays. The glass buckles as his back collides, and he goes crashing into a heap on the floor. Bella, huddled on the ground in a pool of her own blood, barely has the strength to look up. _Alice._

James rolls into a crouch, a low growl in his throat, his face twisted in a snarl. His smile pulls and distorts slowly, widening and growing until it isn’t small at all but rather a contortion of teeth, glistening white. “You’ve spoiled my meal.”

Alice Cullen is in her own crouch in front of Bella, her tiny body acting as a barrier between hunter and prey. She snaps her teeth at him, a warning, a challenge to try and attack her. Bella can’t see her face, but Alice’s body is tense, thrumming with a nervous sort of energy. She looks like she’s aching for a fight. Her muscles almost seem to vibrate under her skin (of course, that could be the concussion talking).

“ _Run_ ,” Alice hisses, one hand braced against the ground in front of her, ready to spring into action at any moment. “Run now. Give yourself a head start. They’ll be here soon, all of them. You really think you’re so bad?” She chuckles, but there’s no humor in her voice as she continues speaking. “Try outrunning six furious vampires after you’ve attacked their family.”

A clenching of the jaw is the only thing that signals James’ sudden spike in fear. But still, he tries to make himself look unaffected. He slowly gets up from his crouch, running a hand through his hair like this was his plan all along. “Fine,” he sighs, “have the human. She wasn’t really my taste anyway.” He moves for the door, never turning his back on the scene in front of him. Alice growls at him the whole way.

Right before he disappears from view, Alice manages to throw out one final taunt. “You won’t last five hours. Enjoy it while you can.”

For half a second it looks like James is going to turn back around, but at the last moment he seems to change his mind. He instead turns on his heel and in the blink of an eye he’s gone, fleeing off into the waning daylight of the hot Arizona summer.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Alice whips around to face Bella. Bella can see that she’s holding her breath, likely trying to remove as much temptation as possible, to stave off the bloodlust as long as she can in order to care for her injured friend.

“Bella. Bella honey, can you hear me?” she asks, her cold hand reaching out to touch the other girl’s incredibly pale cheek.

Bella _can_ hear her, but she can’t speak. She tries to open her mouth to say something, anything, but all she can manage to do is make a noise in the back of her throat that Alice takes as confirmation.

Every inch of her hurts. Her back, her ribs, her arm, her head. Her hands are soaked crimson, and there are cuts and lacerations all down her arms, her wrists, her knees, her thighs, that are expelling hot blood at an alarming rate. Her vision is blurring and she can’t quite manage to keep her eyes open. She’s losing a lot of blood, and she knows that can’t be good.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Alice mutters under her breath, looking down at the girl beneath her.

The sound of fumbling — a phone being pulled hastily from a pocket — as Alice continues to whisper. “Why did you _leave_ , Bella? Why?” she asks, though she knows Bella can’t answer her. “Carlisle?” she says next, her voice close to frantic. “Carlisle, I’m here, with Bella. She’s…” Alice’s voice trails off.

It’s getting harder to concentrate, harder to focus.

She hears Alice curse. Tries to open her eyes to see. Alice fumbles with her cellphone, manages to put it on speaker before it slides out of her shaking fingers.

Carlisle’s voice now, tinny and distance and echoing in a strangely metallic way. _“Alice?”_ he asks. _“Alice, you have to calm down. Tell me what’s wrong. What do you see? Is she bitten?”_

“No. No, he didn’t bite her. There’s so much blood, Carlisle. She’s losing _so much blood_.”

_“You have to apply pressure to the wound.”_

“Which one?” Alice’s voice pulls up at the end of her question, with a note of barely-suppressed panic. “There are too many.”

_“How bad are her injuries? How much blood is she losing?”_

Alice shakes her head. “Too much. There’s too much.”

_“Can she move? Can she speak?”_

“No. No, she can’t… Carlisle, I’m so scared. What am I supposed to do?”

Carlisle is silent for a moment, only a moment, but it feels like an eternity. Bella’s almost convinced she’s passed out in the intervening seconds, but soon enough he speaks, drawing her out of the fog once again. _“Where is James?”_ he finally asks.

“ _James_? What about _Bella_? Carlisle, what do I _do_?”

His voice cuts in and out. Poor reception, maybe. Or maybe he’s coming through just fine, and it’s only Bella whose reception is wavering. _“Esme, Rosalie… He won’t get far. Edward and I… as fast as we can.”_

“It won’t be fast enough,” Alice growls down towards the phone, chancing a glance at the girl below her. Bella’s eyes are fluttering, and she’s positive she’s drifting in and out of consciousness. Their conversation isn’t making sense. Carlisle sounds like he’s cutting in and out, like he’s calling them from inside a tunnel.

Alice’s hands are suddenly on her face again, and their icy touch is a welcome relief to the pounding in her head.

(How long has she been lying here, bleeding out? Three minutes, four? How much blood can she lose before she passes out, before she goes into shock, before her heart stops? How long does she have left?)

“Hold on, Bella,” Alice pleads. “Just a little longer. Do it for me, yeah? Just a little longer,” she whispers, bending down to brush the hair off of Bella’s face. “Carlisle,” Alice says into the phone. “Tell me what to do. How do I save her?”

Another long pause before he speaks again. “ _You have to turn her,”_ he finally says, almost too softly for even Alice to hear.

“NO!” she shouts, and Bella can hear another voice ( _Edward,_ her heart clenches in her chest as she tries to gasp. Oh, how she longs for him, for his perfect face, for his comforting touch and his soothing words. The only regret she has in her entire life is that she’s going to die without ever getting the chance to say goodbye to him properly. She never should have written that _stupid_ letter) on the other end, shouting the same thing. “I can’t!” Alice is shaking he head, her hands wrapped tight around the laceration to Bella’s thigh. “I won’t!”

 _“Alice, Bella is going to **die** ,”_ Carlisle says. _“You know that as well as I.”_

“I can’t,” Alice whispers. “You know what happens… what would happen if I… I can’t do that. It can’t be _me_. Edward…”

 _“Alice?”_ A different voice calls through the phone now. ( _Edward._ Bella’s heart aches for him.) _“Alice, listen to me… you have to do it.”_

“ _What_? But you just said—”

_“I know what I said. But you **have** to. You have to change her… turn her. It’s the only way, Alice. **Please**. I can’t live without her.”_

But Alice is still shaking her head, still protesting, though from the bits of her that Bella can make out, she seems less certain than before. “You know what happens if I do that, Edward. The bond…”

_“It doesn’t have to be that way. Not always. Look at you and your maker.”_

“I never met my maker,” she says through gritted teeth.

_“Then look at me and Carlisle. The bond isn’t set in stone. And when it’s her life at stake… Look, we’ll be there in ten minutes. Will she make it that long?”_

Alice doesn’t have to look down to know the answer. “No,” she whispers.

 _“Then do it,”_ he says with a commanding sort of finality. _“For me. For her. I can’t live without her. Please.”_

Bella thinks, somewhere in the back of her mind, with her fading consciousness, _Is he considering me at all, in this? Or only himself?_ But the thought doesn’t linger.

Alice hits the phone away from her and bends down, her lips inches from where James’ were mere minutes before.

“Alice?” Bella manages to croak out, but Alice shushes her.

“I’m so sorry, Bella. I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice thick with tears she’s unable to shed. She presses a kiss to Bella’s temple and mumbles one more apology.

She takes one deep breath. Her eyes darken, their usual gold color replaced with black as she bends down.

Her teeth barely graze Bella’s neck, so gentle it feels more like a whisper.

Bella is unconscious before the fire even sets in.

____________________

In the end, it isn’t difficult to sink her teeth in.

The smell of Bella’s blood, so out in the open, so strong and potent, is enough to set Alice’s throat burning. She feels like she hasn’t fed in weeks. Her eyes go black with the thirst of blood lust and in the end, it isn’t difficult for her.

She bites Bella’s neck, right where her heart pumps the strongest (though Bella’s pulse is weak, fluttering unevenly beneath the skin). Her venom immediately seeps into Bella’s blood. But her heart rate is already dangerously low, and Alice is worried that this one injection point won’t be enough to spread the disease to the rest of her body.

She slides down, her jeans soaking up the human girl’s blood and staining dark crimson. She nips quickly at Bella’s left wrist, then the right one. Just enough to puncture; just enough to do its job.

She hasn’t tried to drink yet. She’s been holding her breath, holding her tongue, digging her fingertips into the wood beneath her, splintering it in a hundred places, but she hasn’t tried to drink yet. She’s not sure what will happen if she does, if she allows herself to slip into the temptation, if she allows Bella’s blood to slip past her lips. She hasn’t fed from a human in nearly 80 years.

But here she is, an alcoholic at an open bar. A drug addict in a methadone clinic.

She screws her eyes shut tight and tries to focus on the task at hand. She can’t let herself drink from Bella. She _can’t_. If she does… well, she’s not sure she’d be able to stop.

She eyes Bella’s pants next, and makes a quick decision. She reaches out, sinks her sharp nails into the fabric, and yanks, ripping a large hole in the denim. She takes one pause, one last moment to steady herself, before she latches her teeth onto Bella’s newly-exposed thigh.

The femoral artery is one of the largest in the body, and since she has no way of delivering her venom straight to Bella’s heart (the most sure-fire way of turning a human into a vampire) she’s hedging all her bets. She just prays Bella’s heart stays pumping long enough to circulate her venom through the blood, through the body.

But she makes a mistake. A stupid, careless, _idiotic_ mistake.

As she’s pulling away from Bella’s leg her knees slip on the floor (in the blood) and in her scramble to maintain her hold on Bella’s unconscious figure (to stop from injuring her further), her mouth slips.

Her tongue touches blood.

Bella’s scent is all around her, and she can feel the hot blood flowing, millimeters away from her lips, and with that one tiny taste suddenly the animal inside of her is howling from behind the bars of its cage, shaking and rattling and screaming to be released. It’s too strong. She already knows it’s too strong.

But still, she has to try. She can’t let herself… she can’t… can’t…

 _It’ll be fine_ , she tells herself in her haze, already reeling from _the smell the taste the blood the feel the heat the slick_. _It’s just one little taste._ Everyone in her family has been dying to know what Bella tastes like, and now _she_ has a chance to… _Just one little taste… just to know…_

As soon as the first drop of blood passes her lips, Alice is done for. The stream starts flowing and suddenly she can’t stop. She drinks like a dying man at an oasis, like a woman caught out in a desert storm for countless days. Her hands clamp firmly onto Bella’s thigh, holding it to her, keeping her there, pressed against her. Keeping the supply close.

She drinks like she’ll never get the chance again.

Not even a hand on her shoulder gets her to pull away.

Her father’s voice behind her can’t make her stop, either. “Alice, that’s enough,” Carlisle says calmly. (She hadn’t even heard him come in.) But she _doesn’t_ stop. She can’t. Carlisle doesn’t understand… he can’t know what it’s like… he doesn’t have Bella’s very essence rushing into his mouth, doesn’t have the power of human blood burning a trail underneath his skin. “Alice, you’re taking too much. Stop. I know you can stop.”

Alice’s eyes flash open and flick over to her brother, who is standing off to the side, horrified at the scene in front of him. He recoils when he sees her eyes, and she knows that they’re now a vibrant red, foreign and hideous to him.

It’s enough to make her yank herself away. She pushes against the floor and launches herself backwards, hitting a wall that has already been battered and busted by James’s tirade.

She sinks to the floor, Bella’s blood dripping from her mouth and onto her shirt, Bella’s blood soaked through her jeans and all over her hands.

She wants to sob. She wishes more than anything that she could cry.

Instead, she screams.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come talk to me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s been nearly 80 years since she’s had to look at herself with red eyes._
> 
> _She’s revolted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t exactly know how many chapters this is going to be, since I’m still writing the ending, but… 10? Ish? Let’s go with 10-13.
> 
> Also, I’m shooting for an every-third-day update with this story (short chapters, hooray!). But you all know, I can’t keep to a schedule to save my life. So… sorry in advance.

____________________

Alice screams and screams and screams until someone wraps her up in their arms. She can tell by the scent that it’s Rosalie, who has appeared out of seemingly nowhere to take care of her, to comfort her, to hold her tightly. Alice shakes and trembles as grief overcomes her like a sickening wave.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s been rocking back and forth, repeating herself again and again and again and again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She recites it like a mantra to herself until her voice goes hoarse. Rosalie rocks with her, rubs her back soothingly, tries to calm her down.

She almost killed Bella. She almost killed her. She almost _killed_ her.

She can’t stop thinking that… that she could have… if Carlisle hadn’t shown up when he did…

“It’s okay, Alice. It’s okay. Come on, we have to get you cleaned up. The others… they went after James, a while ago, and Carlisle’s taking Bella home as we speak,” Rosalie says softly, and Alice briefly wonders how long they’ve been sitting on the floor of this dark ballet studio embracing. It feels like it’s been hours.

She stands as if in a trance, allowing Rosalie to lead her to a nearby bathroom. No showers; they’ll have to make do with a sink and paper towels.

Alice feels a vision tickling at her subconscious, but for the first time in her life, she shoves it aside. She doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to know anything about anyone in her family, including herself, and _especially_ not Bella. She can’t… she doesn’t want them. Not now, not ever.

Her visions failed her before, when she needed them the most, and now because of that Bella almost… Bella is…

She starts to shake again, and Rosalie tightens her grip around her sister’s shoulders, bracing her. “You stink,” she says softly, almost teasing, as she yanks Alice into the bathroom and starts peeling her clothes off.

Alice lets Rosalie maneuver her, lets Rosalie strip her down to almost nothing, lets Rosalie divest her of the clothing that’s already been ruined and caked with rapidly-cooling blood. Finally, after some less-than-graceful stumbling, Alice stands in front of her sister in nothing but her lacy underwear. Rosalie scrunches up her face, and Alice can tell that she’s working hard to hold her breath as she balls Alice’s clothes up. She yanks the trash bag out of the (thankfully) empty can and dumps Alice’s clothes unceremoniously inside. She ties it shut tight with a glower, her head tilted to the side, her face angled away from the smell. Alice doesn’t blame her, but she doesn’t feel the same urge to turn away from the smell of fresh blood. She’s already bathed in it, awash in that enticing mix of _floral_ and _iron_ and _life_ that is pure, unadulterated Bella.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget that smell; not if she lives for the next thousand years.

Alice glances to the left, her vision unfocused and lazy. Her throat still feels raw from screaming, and though physically she knows she’s stronger than she’s been in decades, the thought of why, exactly, she’s currently so powerful has her knees trembling. She feels like collapsing. She takes in a few big gulps of air just out of habit, just out of comfort, hoping that it will serve to calm her down. Her adrenaline is still surging and she feels like at any moment she might vibrate out of her own skin.

But then movement on the periphery distracts her, and Alice focuses in on something to her left. She freezes when she glimpses her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her eyes widening in horror.

The first thing she notices is her hair, which is sticking up every which-way. This isn’t unusual for her, but now, instead of making her look cute (the way it usually does), she finds that she looks _deranged_.

The second thing she notices is that, curiously, it looks like she’s wearing crimson gloves. But her stomach lurches uncomfortably a moment later when she realizes that it’s Bella’s blood that’s coating her skin, reaching up wrists and forearms, like she plunged her hands straight into Bella’s chest. She has bloody handprints on her face and neck, too, where she must have rested her hands after… everything. She was trying to hide the evidence of what she’d done, but apparently she’d only succeeded in smearing it all over herself.

Her clothes are ruined; she already knows that much without even looking.

She finally brings her gaze up to her face, and she’s sure that if she were physically capable, she would have thrown up right then and there.

Bella’s blood is still on her chin, only now it’s dried and cracking, making her look like some sort of dead, feral animal. _That’s not far from the truth_ , she thinks bitterly, her hands tracing the stains. The blood has started to oxidize, red tinting more towards brown. It stands out in sharp relief against her impossibly pale skin either way. But there’s something about old blood that feels even worse than new blood. Like she couldn’t be bothered to clean up after herself.

But her eyes… her eyes are the worst. They’ve shifted already, completely lost their usual gold hue only to be replaced by a deep crimson ( _blood_ ) that she knows will hang around with her for weeks, as more evidence of what she’s done. As another reminder of the crime she committed here today.

And this one couldn’t be washed off like all the others.

It’s been nearly 80 years since she’s had to look at herself with red eyes.

She’s revolted.

In a fit of anger (or maybe some sort of psychotic episode), she brings her arm back and punches the mirror as hard as she can. She can’t even bear to look at herself.

Rosalie doesn’t even flinch. She just turns on the sink and grabs some paper towels.

It takes her about thirty minutes of intense scrubbing to remove every last drop of Bella’s blood from her body. Alice is almost no help. She just stands there and watches as the sink fills with bloody water, and is then drained, then filled again, then drained… the process continues until Rosalie is satisfied that all the signs of ( _trauma death injury blood_ ) violence have been removed.

Almost all of them.

Alice turns to her sister, bringing her gaze up for the first time to meet Rosalie’s sad and sympathetic eyes.

“Did you kill him?” she finally asks, and her usually clear, melodious voice is rough and husky from before ( _from the thirst the hunger from feeding from screaming_ ).

Rosalie’s gaze hardens. “We ripped him apart.”

Alice slumps against the wall, fatigue engulfing her all of a sudden. She desperately wishes she could sleep. She would trade all the money in the world, every minute of her remaining immortality, for just one more good night’s sleep. Maybe, if she could just close her eyes and sleep for a few seconds, she’d wake up and realize that all of this was just some long, drawn-out, terrible dream.

Her body is aching, but her mind hasn’t been this active in 80 years. Even though it makes her sick, she can _feel_ the energy flowing through her.

There are always downsides to anything a person tries to do that’s… against the norm, that defies biology. Their coven chooses not to feed on humans. As a result, they have to feed more frequently, and they’re weaker than they would be otherwise. Vampires who subsist on animal blood alone can’t match the ferocity, the strength, the endurance of the rest of their kind.

It’s a tradeoff, but one Alice has been more than happy to partake in.

But now that she has Bella’s blood in her, she feels stronger than she has in decades. She has no doubt in her mind that she could take on Emmett, Jasper, and Edward in a fight all at once, and she’d easily beat them.

She hates it.

“Let’s go,” Alice says suddenly, without preamble. “I’m sick of this place.”

“We need to get you some clothes.”

“Is your car outside?” Alice asks instead, ignoring her. Rosalie nods. “Then I don’t need clothes. We’re driving straight home. I don’t want anyone seeing me.”

Rosalie nods again and leads the way.

Alice knows she’s acting out of character. She’s acting more like the blonde in front of her than her usual bubbly self. But she can’t help it.

Human blood makes vampires hostile. She had forgotten…

She gets in her sister’s car and Rosalie peels out of the parking lot, speeding her way out of Phoenix, Arizona and towards Washington. But even with Rosalie’s aggressive driving habits, it will still probably take them a good 11 hours without stops; a little less than half the usual amount of time.

Alice sinks further into her seat and hopes, selfishly, for the leather to swallow her whole.

 

 

They do not speak for another five hours.

Rosalie gets a call from Carlisle around two hours into their drive, right as they’re passing Vegas, but Alice can’t bring herself to ask about the specifics of the call until much, much later, when her anxiety has already sent her into a tail-spin she worries she may never emerge from.

It’s Alice who finally breaks the silence, nervous and twitching and watching the world zip by at 95, 100, 120 miles an hour. “How is she?” she asks, her voice purposefully measured. She never takes her eyes off of the landscape outside.

Rosalie glances her way briefly before turning her attention back to the road. “Carlisle’s a little worried, to be honest.” Alice stiffens in her seat, but it’s the only indication she’s been affected by Rosalie’s words. “It’s nothing like that,” Rosalie is quick to assure her. “It’s just… well, it’s been almost half a day and she hasn’t done anything.”

Alice frowns. “What is she supposed to do, get up and dance the Cha Cha?”

Rosalie’s lips twitch up in amusement, happy to catch a little glimpse of the sister she recognizes. “No. It’s just… usually they scream.” She stops speaking for a moment, her fingers flexing around her steering wheel. “It hurts, Alice,” she continues gravely. “I know you can’t remember, but _I_ can. It _hurts_. It’s like a million suns blazing under your skin, all the time.”

“And Bella isn’t screaming?”

“It doesn’t do any good to scream, either way. They hear you, and they try to help, but… they can’t do anything. All it really does is hurt them, make them… make them feel guilty…” A pause, as Rosalie considers her words. “It’s probably better she _isn’t_ screaming, to be honest.”

“But what if that means it isn’t working? What if she’s _dead_?”

Rosalie shakes her head. “She isn’t dead. Carlisle can hear her heart pumping, though it’s getting weaker by the hour. It’ll stop working, soon.”

Alice inhales sharply. “I should be there.”

“We’re going there.”

“I should be there for her. This is my fault. It’s all my fault. The least I can do is… I should _be there_ for her while she’s…”

Rosalie reaches over and grips Alice’s hand. “I know you won’t believe me, Alice, but this is _not_ your fault. Alright? You saved Bella. Without you, she would have been dead.”

“She _is_ dead,” Alice spits, yanking her hand away. “She’s dying _now_. My venom is killing her as we speak.”

Without warning, Rosalie pulls off to the side of the road. Alice shouts, confused and outraged (what the hell does she think she’s playing at they don’t have _time_ for this) but Rosalie just yanks her keys out of the ignition before she turns her sad eyes on Alice. “You _saved her_ , Alice,” she says, her eyes clear and direct, her voice as sincere as Alice has ever heard it. “She gets to _live_ because of you.”

“Some life,” Alice mutters.

Rosalie’s sad expression turns angry at the drop of a hat. “Now you listen to me,” she says, her voice sharp. “She gets to _live_ , Alice. She gets to walk and talk and breathe and go to school and that’s all because of _you_. Without you we’d be driving her home to her father in a body bag. You get to see her again, Alice. We all do. You stopped two parents from having to bury their daughter, you stopped Edward from going off the deep end… you saved that girl’s life. You didn’t kill her, because she’s _not_ dead, any more than you, or I, or Carlisle, or Esme are dead. We’re _alive_ , Alice, and so is she.” Alice doesn’t say anything in response, but Rosalie clearly wasn’t expecting her to.

She starts the car again and peels out onto the highway. “Now, are you going to stop acting like Edward and be my sister again? Or are we going to have _two_ people moping around our house for the rest of eternity?”

This makes Alice laugh, and Rosalie smiles, visibly relieved. Alice knows that she’s worried — more worried than she’s willing to let on, that’s for sure. In her own way she cares about Bella, too; they all do. And Rosalie has always been the one to turn to in a crisis, the clear head in the midst of the chaos. She’s as violent and vindictive as the rest of them, but when it comes down to it, she’ll protect her family at all costs. She always has.

Alice thinks, as she leans her head back against the leather of the front seat, that that’s probably going to come in handy, soon.

She can’t imagine this is going to get any easier.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She can’t move. If she moves, she’ll start screaming. If she opens her mouth, if she moves even one single muscle, she’ll lose control of her iron-clad will. She’ll scream. She’ll shriek. She’ll sob and beg for death. She wants to call out for someone to kill her now, before she has to live one more second of this torture, but she can’t move her lips._
> 
> _Or, more accurately: she won’t. She won’t. She won’t let them know how much pain she’s in, how much she’s longing for it to end. She won’t let on that she feels like dying. She refuses to put them through that, any of them. Carlisle and Esme, who would only go mad with worry. Edward, who would rather throw himself into the sun than see her in pain. And Alice, dear, sweet, beautiful Alice, who would be wracked with a guilt so fierce, so overpowering…_
> 
> _She won’t do it. She won’t scream._
> 
> _She won’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently when I was fifteen I hadn’t yet learned about consistent points of view?? Because this thing bounces back and forth between characters’ perspectives like it’s nobody’s business. (Like, I’m pretty sure I get every one of the main characters in here at some point.) It would have been more work to change it at this point, so… I just kept it in. Sorry about that.

____________________

Carlisle bursts into the house with a weak and shaking Bella in his arms, Edward fast on his heels.

Esme jumps up from where she’d been sitting anxiously on the couch and rushes over to them. Jasper and Emmett appear from somewhere in the kitchen. Emmett keeps a hand on Jasper’s shoulder — a warning, maybe. A bracing reminder to keep his cool. Jasper’s face looks pained and pinched; he’s holding his breath, and it’s obvious.

“Carlisle, what took you so long? We’ve been worried—is that Bella? What…?” Esme tries to ask, but her husband cuts her off.

“Alice had to bite her,” he says coldly by way of explanation. His voice is even and measured; he’s working hard to mask his emotions. Hysteria does no one any good. He needs to keep his head. His family needs him to be strong. They need _someone_ to be strong.

Bella needs him, too.

Esme gasps when she takes in the sight in front of her. She covers her mouth, reeling back from Carlisle and his charge. Even Jasper, who usually would be sent into a feeding frenzy at the barest whiff of Bella’s blood, only looks sick to his stomach.

“Where are Alice and Rose?” Emmett asks, craning his neck to look behind his father.

“They’re on their way. Alice was… understandably shaken, and Rosalie stayed with her. Now, step aside, please. I have to set her down. The poison should already be spreading through her system.”

The family jumps to the side and Carlisle is up the stairs and in his study in a matter of seconds. He takes one arm and sweeps it over his desk, sending his papers, books, pens, and figurines crashing to the floor. Several of them shatter, but he doesn’t even bat an eye.

He lays Bella gently onto the table, using part of his shirt to dab at the cold sweat accumulating on her forehead.

“It has to be working,” he mutters to himself. “It just _has_ to.”

But something isn’t right. Now that Bella is flat on her back, without anyone touching her, she’s stopped moving. Except for the steady rise and fall of her chest, she could be a statue. Not a single finger is twitching, she doesn’t bat an eyelash.

She isn’t screaming.

That’s unusual. And _worrying_. More worrying than he cares to admit out loud, where somebody might hear him.

“Carlisle?” his wife calls from the door, and Carlisle nods without removing his gaze from the girl in front of him.

Esme comes up behind him and wraps her arms securely around his waist. She too turns her attention to the young woman. “Was there another way?” she whispers in a voice too low for human ears.

“No,” her husband answers, his voice lowered, too. “She would have died, otherwise.”

Esme buries her head in the space between his shoulder blades. If she were a human, he thinks she’d probably be crying. He can’t say he doesn’t empathize with the feeling. _Gods_ , but this is quite the mess. “How is Alice?”

He shakes his head. “Practically catatonic when I left.”

“Then why did you leave?” Esme’s voice isn’t exactly _hard,_ isn’t exactly _accusing,_ but there’s an edge to it, a slight warning; like she’s preparing herself to be disappointed in him. “She’s our _daughter_ , Carlisle—”

“I had to care for Bella,” he says, cutting her off swiftly. “Rosalie was there with Alice. I trust her enough to deal with the situation.”

Esme sighs, unhappily resigned to the response. “And Edward?”

“He hasn’t spoken a word since he gave Alice permission to turn her.”

“You don’t think…” Esme trails off, her unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between them. “Do you… is it possible she might have…?”

Carlisle shakes his head. He knows what she’s too afraid to say. But the idea of it… the potential consequences… he can’t allow himself to dwell on uncertain hypothetical disasters; not when there are plenty of tangible disasters right in front of him that he must deal with. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I just don’t know. It will be a strong bond, a powerful one, especially considering their past relationship. But I don’t know if…” He shakes his head once more. “It’s too early to say. And no use guessing, now.”

“What do you think Edward will do? If she—” Esme asks, glancing at the door as if afraid her eldest son might barge in at any moment.

“He will cope,” Carlisle says, turning away and walking to his cupboard for his medical bag. “It’s the best we can hope for. He gets to have her. That’s more than enough, I think.”

“Yes, but what if Alice—?”

“Esme,” Carlisle warns, turning towards her, his eyes glinting.

“Alice hasn’t found her mate,” Esme notes stubbornly.

“That does not mean she gets to take Edward’s. Besides, Alice doesn’t _want_ her. She won’t—”

There’s a whimper from the table, and Carlisle and Esme are by Bella’s side in a heartbeat. “Bella?” Esme ventures, her voice laced with worry. “Bella, stay with us, alright, dear? We’re here; we’re all right here for you. Don’t worry. We’ll be here the whole time.”

But Bella is once more stoically silent. If they weren’t so confident in their senses, Carlisle and Esme might have thought they’d imagined the earlier noise. But no, there definitely was _something_ there.

A sign of life. Carlisle breathes a little easier. That’s promising, if nothing else.

Esme bends down and kisses Bella on her unmoving, pale cheek. Despite her waxy appearance, her skin is _boiling_ , scorching against Esme’s ice-cold lips.

Carlisle watches her expression flicker; something uncertain passes over her eyes. Her mouth turns down as her fingers brush Bella’s hair away from her face. She sighs again and leaves the study to join her sons in the family room without another word.

It’s going to be a long three days.

____________________

All Bella feels is pain.

When she was lying in her old ballet studio, her body broken, bleeding out onto torn-up wooden floors and shards of smashed glass, she thought she would die from the pain of her injuries. Now, she knows better. Those were barely a paper cut compared to what she’s feeling now.

Fire.

It’s all fire.

It’s burning behind her eyelids, down her arms, into her fingers… everywhere, everything around her is consumed by fire.

It’s strongest on her neck, wrists, and her left thigh. She knows there must be a reason for that, for that sort of localized pain, but she can’t remember why. It’s all too hazy. One minute she was facing certain death, the next she was seized by an unforgiving and unrelenting blaze.

She wants to move, to lift an arm, to scratch at her skin until either the burning sensation ceases or she tears her own body apart. Anything, _anything_ would be better than this.

But she can’t move. If she moves, she’ll start screaming. If she opens her mouth, if she moves even one single muscle, she’ll lose control of her iron-clad will. She’ll scream. She’ll shriek. She’ll sob and beg for death. She wants to call out for someone to kill her now, before she has to live one more second of this torture, but she can’t move her lips.

Or, more accurately: she _won’t_. She won’t. She won’t let them know how much pain she’s in, how much she’s longing for it to end. She won’t let on that she feels like dying. She refuses to put them through that, any of them. Carlisle and Esme, who would only go mad with worry. Edward, who would rather throw himself into the sun than see her in pain. And Alice, dear, sweet, beautiful Alice, who would be wracked with a guilt so fierce, so overpowering…

She won’t do it. She won’t scream.

She won’t.

But it’s hard; it’s so, _so_ difficult to remember. She tries to picture their faces (Edward, her father, her mother, Edward, Jacob, Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Alice), tries to hold onto the memory of them, tries to remember how much she loves them, how much she cares for them. How it would destroy them if they knew what she was going through. But it’s so _hard_. Her thoughts aren’t concrete; they’re firing off at a million miles a minute, flashing through memories and faces and responsibilities and fear for the future. She’s slipping in and out of awareness of the world around her and the only constant through it all is _fire pain burning._

No one told her what it would be like. No one had warned her. But then, she supposes that she’d never planned on… _changing_ this early. She’d always planned on it, of course; always planned on becoming a part of Edward’s family forever. If she really stopped to think about it, she supposes she’s been coming to terms with the decision since she first realized what Edward was; the creature he tried to pretend so valiantly he wasn’t. She always had designs to be a Cullen, to be with Edward for all of eternity. She can’t pretend that this isn’t something she has (not so secretly) wanted for some time, now.

But not this _soon_.

Not like _this_.

So, no one warned her what this whole experience was going to be like. But in all fairness, it wouldn’t have done any good either way. No words in the English language could have possibly described _this_.

She’s not conscious of many things. Her attention seems to float in and out of a partial comprehension of the world around her seemingly at random. There’s the feeling of a car zooming down a road; Edward’s arms cradling her head; the feeling of being carried; the feeling of being finally laid flat. She’s not sure how long she’s been like this. Maybe a few hours? Maybe a day?

Has she made it back from Phoenix?

This new room is still, and odorless. She thinks she might be lying on a table, or a desk, or a very hard bed, but again, she can’t be sure.

Her teeth are grinding together so tightly she’s worried they might shatter inside her mouth.

She slowly becomes vaguely aware of Carlisle and Esme talking next to her in hushed voices. Her mind is somehow sharp, unbelievably clear, kept working and speeding along because of the pain burning through her veins.

She can hear them. She isn’t sure she’s supposed to be able to, but she can hear their muffled voices.

Their words are soothing, something familiar in this hell she’s been sentenced to, and she lets the sound wash over her, trying to find some comfort in it.

Something clicks in her mind, and suddenly she’s silently begging for Carlisle and Esme to talk louder, to speak up, to tell her _what’s going on_. She’s desperate for something, _anything_ , really, to distract from the fire that’s burning her from the inside out.

“How is Alice?” Bella holds her breath.

Their conversation fades from her consciousness again as she’s wracked with thoughts and memories and worry.

_Alice._

What had happened to her, down in Arizona? What had she done — what had she been forced to do? God, if Bella had only stayed with her and Jasper… if she hadn’t ditched them at the airport… if she hadn’t fallen for James’s trick… if she had been able to contact her mother, to know she was safe…

This is all her fault. All of this, the entire situation, is her fault.

Poor Alice.

“And Edward?” His name jump-starts Bella’s mind again and suddenly she’s focused in on the conversation around her with a laser-like intensity.

_Edward._

She feels nearly sick to her stomach. She’s barely thought of him since the ballet studio. Right before she thought she was about to die, his face had flashed in front of her eyes, but then it was gone, the delusion replaced by his very _real,_ very _present,_ sister.

She’s felt his presence near her — in the car, she thinks; he was with her in the car — but it’s been so hard to think of _anything,_ really. She hasn’t thought about his feelings, what it must have been like for him to find her, how he must have gone nearly out of his mind with grief and guilt and loss and longing… she’s barely been able to spare a passing thought to how he must feel about all of this.

(So strange; she hasn’t been able to get him off of her mind for months, and now, while she’s dying, he’s just some ghostly apparition for her confused mind to grab onto.)

Mostly, all she’s been able to think about is the fire.

“He hasn’t spoken a word since he gave Alice permission to turn her.”

“You don’t think…” Esme’s voice is hesitant, speaking with a deliberate sort of obscurity that Bella can’t make sense of. “Do you… is it possible she might have…?” Esme asks.

Focusing on their conversation is taking her attention away from her torture. She wants them to keep talking, to keep moving around, _anything_ to keep the flames at bay. She doesn’t know what Esme is asking, but the curiosity is tickling her mind. She wants to find out, if only for something to do; if only for some mystery to crack, so she doesn’t have to consider her present situation.

“I don’t know,” Carlisle says. “I just don’t know. It will be a strong bond, a powerful one, especially considering their past relationship. But I don’t know if…” A pause. Bella scrambles, silently, for any sort of clue. She’s given none. “It’s too early to say. And no use guessing, now.”

“What do you think Edward will do? If she—” Esme asks.

 _What will **Edward** do?_ Her mind asks, stuck on that one confusing thought. _Why would Edward have to do **anything**?_

“He will cope,” Carlisle says, and Bella hears him walking across the room, opening some drawers. “It’s all we can hope for. He gets to have her. That’s more than enough, I think.”

_Why should anyone get to **have** her?_

“Yes, but what if Alice—?”

“Esme,” Carlisle says, his voice gaining a hard edge that Bella’s never heard before.

“Alice hasn’t found her mate.” And whoa, hold on, back up a second. _What_ are they talking about? Where did _this_ come from?

“That does not mean she gets to take Edward’s. Besides, Alice doesn’t _want_ her. She won’t—”

The shock is what makes Bella whimper. She’s not sure what she’s hearing, nor what it means to her, but she can’t stop the reaction her body has to the unexpected conversation, to the unexpected feelings it’s stirring within her stomach. It’s only one noise, one little sound that escapes past her clenched teeth, before she throws all her efforts into keeping herself silent again. She briefly notices that Esme is talking to her, but she can’t focus on the words anymore.

She has to think. There’s something… they’re saying something important. Or… they _were_? Or they _will_? Her time is getting muddled; she’s having trouble picking out what’s past with what’s currently happening. She has to think; she has to focus… has to figure out… what…

But she _can’t_ think. It’s too difficult. The fire is licking at her brain now, her concentration with every passing second waning, and she knows that she has to make a choice. She can either think about what Esme’s just said, try and parse through the confusing bits of information she’s been presented with, or she can focus all of her energy on keeping herself from breaking.

She keeps breathing, keeps herself frozen, and stops thinking.

She feels a pair of lips brush against her cheek, and she almost flinches away from them. They’re so cold they feel almost like they’re burning her.

They remind her briefly of Edward, and then more vividly of Alice. Of Alice’s lips pressed to her temple, then brushing her neck before her teeth punctured the skin…

She stops thinking.

It’s all she can do.

____________________

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Alice growls to her sister.

Rosalie arches an eyebrow but lowers her foot a tiny bit more. The engine revs and the car shoots forward, now pushing 80 miles per hour. They’re flying down residential streets, weaving in and out of cars, dodging buildings, shooting through red lights… Alice spares a brief thought for the number of tickets Rosalie’s surely going to have to pay, at the end of this. But the thought doesn’t stay with her for long.

 “We’ll be there in twenty minutes, Alice. You can calm down a little bit.” Alice growls again. Rosalie scoffs. “ _Or_ I can push you out of this car and you can _run_ home.”

Alice’s eyes glint. “Would that be faster?” She asks nervously.

“Alice, stop. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

“I shouldn’t have stayed behind. I should have gone with her.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “Okay, _maybe_ , but it’s done now. You can see the future, not change the past. Stop beating yourself up. You saved her life.”

Alice bites her lip and doesn’t say anything.

They pull into their driveway fifteen minutes later, and Alice is out of the car before Rosalie even has a chance to turn the engine off.

She bursts inside, almost breaking down the door in the process. “Where is she?” she asks, her voice a touch more frantic than she would have liked. But she can’t help it. She needs to find Bella, _now_. Before…

( _Before what?_ her traitorous mind whispers. _You’re too late to change anything. You already know that._ )

Her family sits in the main room of the house. They’re frozen in a stunned silence, staring at her as if she’s grown another head.

“Alice… where are your _clothes_?” her mother asks.

“Where is she?” she asks again, this time with more iron in her words.

“Upstairs,” Emmett finally answers. He, too, is looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Where’s Rose?”

But Alice is already up the stairs before he can finish asking. She barges into Carlisle’s office without knocking, and she swears her cold, dead heart almost breaks when she catches a glimpse of what’s inside. “Bella,” she whispers helplessly, appearing at the girl’s side a moment later. She slips her hand into Bella’s, and lets out a whimper when she feels the fever burning the other girl alive.

A hand falls to her shoulder, and Alice’s gaze shoots up. “ _Carlisle_ …” she says, sounding much more like the 20-year-old girl she _was_ , rather than the ancient being she currently _is_ , “what do we _do_? How do we… is there any way to help her? To make it stop…” _Stop hurting? Or stop entirely?_

Is there any chance left to save Bella’s soul?

But he just shakes his head. “We can’t do anything. It will take time. All we can do is just… sit and wait it out. That’s all we can do.”

“I’m so sorry Bella,” Alice whispers, before bending down and placing another soft kiss to Bella’s temple. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Edward lowers himself slightly, his legs bending, like he’s preparing for a fight._
> 
> _That only serves to incense Rosalie further. “What? You’re not gonna talk? Are you gonna torture yourself over this for decades, too? Gonna spend your time roaming the world and being miserable because you couldn’t save your girlfriend’s life?” Rosalie’s voice drips with sarcasm and malice as she stalks forward. “Well, you know what, maybe you should. Fat lot of good you were, today.”_
> 
> _Edward’s eye twitches._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s a consistent point of view, you ask? What’s a simple, character-driven narrative with one main narrator?
> 
> *shrug*

____________________

It’s hours later when Rosalie knocks on the office door. “Alice?” she calls out tentatively, but Alice doesn’t look away from Bella’s face. It’s getting paler by the hour, and thus (obviously) doing absolutely nothing to mollify Alice’s fear. She can’t stop staring at Bella, won’t even look up to acknowledge the newcomer in the room. As if turning her attention away from Bella for even a moment might be the thing that ultimately breaks her tenuous hold on life. “We’re going hunting,” Rosalie offers, though she knows Alice will undoubtedly turn her down. “You should come, too.”

Sure enough, Alice shakes her head. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You need to eat—”

Alice whips around, her red eyes burning into her sister’s golden ones. “I’ve eaten already,” she hisses.

Rosalie raises her hands in surrender and backs out of the room. “Right. Whatever you say.”

She rockets down the stairs and joins her mother and brothers in the family room. “She won’t come,” she says with a shrug. “She’s determined to stay there until this thing is over.” She spares one glance back up the stairs. “Besides, she’s still running on Bella-juice. So she should be full for days, maybe weeks.”

Edward growls at her.

Rosalie turns on him. “What, you gonna _challenge_ me, Eddie?”

“Rose…” Emmett warns, putting a hand on her arm, but she shakes him off violently.

“No,” she says hotly, taking a step forward. “No, I need to say this. It’s about time _someone_ did.”

“Rosalie.” Esme’s voice this time, quiet but firm. Always trying to placate, always trying to diffuse.

But Rosalie ignores her. “What the hell are you _doing_ down here, Edward? Your _girlfriend_ is being turned into a _vampire_ thirty feet away from you. _You_ should be the one up there holding her hand. Not hiding out like a _coward_.”

Edward growls at her again, his expression growing impossibly darker. He lowers himself slightly, his legs bending, like he’s preparing for a fight.

That only serves to incense her further. “What? You’re not gonna talk? Are you gonna _torture_ yourself over this for decades, too? Gonna spend your time roaming the world and being _miserable_ because you couldn’t save your girlfriend’s life?” Rosalie’s voice drips with sarcasm and malice as she stalks forward. “Well, you know what, maybe you _should_. Fat lot of good _you_ were, today.”

Edward’s eye twitches. His hands clench and unclench. His teeth are glinting in the waning afternoon light. All clear warning signs that Rosalie chooses to pointedly ignore. (Maybe she’s feeling powerless; maybe it’s something in the air; maybe she’s itching for a fight, too.)

When she speaks next, it’s with a cruelty she rarely allows. Like all of the anger and frustration and resentment that have been building within her for the past few decades finally decide to boil over into a silent, deadly fury. “It’s just _killing you_ that you couldn’t save her, isn’t it? Well, you’re right. You _didn’t_ save her. _Alice_ did.”

Edward lunges at her.

Rosalie is expecting an attack, but her brother is faster than she anticipates, ferocious anger fueling his actions more than reason. He collides with her with a loud CRACK that knocks them both off of their feet.

The force that he hits her with propels her through one of the tall windows that looks out onto the vast forest that makes up their backyard, and glass explodes around them. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they sail out into the wilderness. Rosalie grunts when her back hits the ground outside.

“EDWARD!” their mother yells, but Edward doesn’t listen, or maybe he doesn’t even hear. His eyes are wide, his irises black. He turns to Rosalie with a snarl on his lips, and she sees red.

Rosalie growls, her teeth bared, and she shoves her brother off her with a surprising show of strength. He goes flying back into a tree, cracking right through the trunk. Within a moment they’re both up and crouched, facing each other, eyes black with hatred and the heat of battle. Edward snaps his teeth and takes another jump at his sister, but he’s caught midair and slammed back down with more force than even most vampires are used to. The ground shakes with the impact.

Emmett is looming over him, large and furious and unmovable. He sits on Edward’s chest, pinning him down so he can’t move. He growls, too, his face a mask of anger, and Edward, despite his instincts (or maybe because of them), turns his head to the side, cowering away from his brother, bearing his neck. A clear show of submission.

“You don’t get to touch her,” Emmett hisses, bringing his fist into the ground an inch from Edward’s face. The crater that is left when he pulls it away is massive. “You don’t touch her, _ever_.”

He stays there, glaring down at the man beneath him, before a hand on his shoulder breaks his focus. He looks up into the face of his wife, and the fight goes out of him at once. Emmett climbs off of Edward and offers a hand, pulling him up and dusting off his shoulders as if he _hadn’t_ been an inch away from throttling him moments before. Edward, for his part, is a little shaky on his feet, once he finally manages to make it upright.

Rosalie turns her attention from Emmett to Edward. She shoots him (what she hopes is) a withering glare. “This situation is hard enough as it is,” she says with a huff. “You think any of us _likes_ what’s happening to Bella? You think any of us are _happy_ about this, about the fact that there’s a _girl_ up there _dying_ because we made the mistake of associating with a human?” She scoffs. “None of us wanted this. But it’s what’s _happening_ , like it or not. And there’s nothing we can do to change it. So swallow your damn pride and go sit with your girlfriend.” She turns abruptly on her heel and stalks off into the forest, her husband hot on her tail.

____________________

In the aftermath of their backyard brawl, after Rosalie and Emmett have already disappeared off into the forest, Edward stands. Left alone to contemplate the wreckage around him.

Jasper is the one who finally breaks the tension. He walks over to his remaining brother and places a hand on his shoulder. Edward knows it’s meant to be reassuring, but he can’t help but feel that the gesture is more condescending than anything.

He yanks his arm away and turns on Jasper, glaring. “How can you _possibly_ know what I’m feeling?” Edward spits at him.

Jasper raises an eyebrow, and Edward has the decency, at least, to look ashamed. _Of course_ , he remembers. How foolish of him to forget. Jasper, with his history of war and bloodlust and the loss of loved ones; Jasper, with his ongoing and constant struggle for control over his own faculties, his own emotions, his own actions; Jasper, who understands how it feels to make grave mistakes that cost human lives; Jasper, with his history of families turning on families. He would know better than any of them.

“I know how frustrating this is for you,” Jasper says softly. “Believe me, I _know_. And I know tempers are high, but… don’t take it out on Rose. This is hard for her, too.” Jasper pats Edward’s shoulder once before he too heads off into the woods in the same direction as his brother and sister.

He’s always been a man of few words. Usually, Edward appreciates his succinct bluntness. But he can’t help but feel that at the moment everyone in his family seems to be very invested in pointing out all the things he’s doing _wrong_ , rather than helping him figure out what, exactly, is the _right_ thing to do.

How is he meant to _know_? And furthermore, how can _they_ all be so sure of themselves? They’ve never… they’ve never been in this situation before. How can they _possibly_ —

Edward realizes, with a start, that he’s been left alone with his adoptive mother, standing in the rubble left over from the brief but fearsome spat between siblings. He looks down at his feet, suddenly ashamed. He doesn’t want to see the disapproval on her face.

“Esme, I…” But he trails off, not knowing what to say.

Esme sighs as she walks towards him, picking her way through the yard carefully, with all the grace of an otter dancing through the water. “I don’t like it when you all fight, you know that,” she says when she’s finally right in front of him. He looks down at his feet again, feeling like a teenager being reprimanded by his mother. (But maybe that’s what this is. Maybe this is their relationship: a perpetual 17-year-old prone to violent rages and bouts of blood-drinking, and the woman tasked with keeping him in line.) “I _know_ you’re angry, Edward, but please… don’t take it out on Rosalie. You know what Emmett will do to you if you try.”

Edward’s lip twitches up slightly, but he manages to keep the rest of his expression somber. “I’m sorry, Esme.”

She cups his cheek, bringing his face up to her level. “I know you are. But your sister _does_ have a point. You should be with Bella right now.”

He turns away from her again. “But I’m so…” He struggles to find the words to properly express this sick, churning, heavy feeling that’s weighing down on his stomach, that’s burning down his throat, strangling him, suffocating him. “I can’t even _think_ about her without feeling… _guilty_. And _angry_. At… at everything. James, Alice, Carlisle, but… at myself, mostly.” He runs a hand through his hair, rough and tugging. “I shouldn’t have brought her to that baseball game. I should have found James _sooner_. I should never have agreed to let her out of my sight…”

Esme cups his cheek once more. “You think you’re the only one who feels guilty?” she asks him softly, stopping him in his tracks. “We were _all_ responsible for Bella, Edward. This is on _all of us_ , not just you. And we did all we could with the situation we were handed.” She brushes her thumb against the side of his jaw, right next to his ear. “What’s passed is past. We can’t hope to change it anymore than we can hope to change what we are. And I promise you, you will have plenty of time to feel angry and out-of-sorts about this later. But right now, Bella needs you. So please… go upstairs.”

Edward nods and walks slowly into the house.

 

 

The twenty steps or so he has to walk up to reach his father’s office feel longer than ever before, but at the same time, far too short, because in no time at all he’s standing in front of the heavy oak door that separates Carlisle’s study from the rest of the house, hovering in place, trying to bring himself to enter. He pauses there for many long moments, his hand raised and frozen on the doorknob. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but his fingers flex where they remain and yet still, he does not turn the knob.

“If it’s any consolation,” Alice’s voice calls from inside, “you _are_ going to come in. So you might as well do it sooner rather than later.”

Edward doesn’t take any more time before he pushes the door open.

Bella still looks like herself. That’s the first thing he notices. Granted, she’s thinner and paler than normal, but she doesn’t look… she doesn’t look like _them_. Not yet, at least.

For some reason, the thought is extraordinarily comforting. His body relaxes almost at once, an invisible and here-to-fore unnoticed weight immediately leaving him.

“How is she?” he asks, approaching the two women slowly and carefully.

“Her heart is about to stop,” Alice says quietly. “I can barely hear it, anymore. It’s been pumping longer than I thought it would. Maybe I didn’t give her enough…” Alice trails off, before she shakes her head vigorously and stands from her spot.

Edward glances at her only long enough to realize she _still_ hasn’t found the time to get dressed. “You should really put on some clothes,” he says, moving forward and taking her newly-vacated spot. He gently nudges Alice’s hand aside so he can replace it with his.

Alice brings her hand to her body at once, clutching it to her chest as if it’s been burned. “I was going to,” she whispers, “but I didn’t want to leave Bella alone. I was going to change her, too, but… I couldn’t leave long enough to get her new clothes.”

Edward looks up at her and flinches.

Alice recoils a few steps and closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, averting his gaze. If it were physically possible, he knows by now he would be flushed red with embarrassment. “I… for a second I forgot… they’re redder than I thought they’d be.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I keep forgetting, too.”

Edward clears his throat awkwardly. “So… clothes?”

Alice nods. “I’ll be back.”

She’s out of the room a second later. The door shuts soundlessly behind her. Edward sighs and looks down at the sick face of his beloved. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispers as he places a soft kiss to her temple. “I’m so sorry.”

____________________

Bella’s broken bones before. Someone as clumsy as her, it’s bound to happen. At this point, she can expect almost monthly trips to the emergency room.

So, she’s no stranger to pain.

Even without medicine, she’s gotten used to the feeling of her bones snapping after a particularly hard fall, of them being set, and then healing, and she _knows_ it’s painful, but she’s gotten used to it. She’s gotten used to the pain.

But she knows nothing — no amount of time or long, constant-exposure — could ever make her get used to _this_.

She doesn’t know how long it’s been. Realistically, she knows it can’t have been any longer than a day, but it feels like it’s been _weeks_. And still, every second is a battle to keep herself from screaming and giving up and just letting herself _die_.

She has to remember. She has to remember Edward, her boyfriend, the love of her life, who’s waiting for her on the other side. But where _is_ he? All she can feel is Alice. Alice’s breath on her shoulder, Alice’s hand in hers, and… those places, where Alice touches her… they don’t hurt so badly, really. Her left hand, the one Alice is currently clinging to, doesn’t burn the way the rest of her body does.

Alice’s cool, ice-like skin is keeping the fire at bay. She just wishes Alice were touching _more_ of her skin, keeping _more_ of the fire out. If only Alice were all around her, engulfing her completely, diluting the fire in more places… then it wouldn’t be so unbearable. This torture wouldn’t feel quite so much like torture, if only—

But it’s no use thinking about that now. She has to focus. She has to remember. She can’t give up, can’t let herself give in to the pain and the hurt and the exhaustion. She has to remember. She has to remember _Edward_. Her beautiful boyfriend, the man who would lay down his life in order to save hers, the man she’s going to spend the rest of her life with. She has to think about him, _remember_ him… it’s the only thing she can do to keep herself sane.

But it’s so hard to remember him when _Alice_ is filling all of her senses.

She has to remember Alice. Dear, sweet, beautiful Alice, who’s currently filled with guilt and worry over the pain she’s caused. Who keeps whispering soft apologies into Bella’s skin. Whose distress is seeping into the air like salt off the ocean. Bella has to remember Alice. She has to survive this. (She has to tell Alice that she forgives her, that she didn’t do anything wrong.) She has to _remember_.

Alice’s voice, loud and unexpected in the quiet room, startles her from her reverie.

“If it’s any consolation,” Alice calls, “you _are_ going to come in. So you might as well do it sooner rather than later.”

If she could move any muscle in her face, Bella would have frowned in confusion. Who was at the door?

“How is she?” her boyfriend’s voice asks, and Bella feels… _something_. She feels something, but she isn’t quite sure what it is. It’s not what she usually feels, when she hears Edward speak. It’s not _bad_ , just… just _different_. Her heart is still beating, slowly but steadily in her chest. It doesn’t jump. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t do any of the things it’s supposed to do… any of the things it _usually_ does when she hears his voice.

Of course, she has molten lava coursing through her blood stream at the moment, and so no part of her is really doing what it’s _supposed_ to be doing. So. Perhaps her body isn’t the most reliable of sources, right now.

She only realizes Alice has been speaking when she feels her stand up suddenly.

Something like fear tugs at Bella’s heart. She wants to yell, to tell her to sit back down. She wants to flex her hand, to hold tight to Alice’s fingers between her own. She wants Alice to stay here. She _needs_ Alice to stay here.

She can’t leave. Alice _promised_ her she wouldn’t leave.

“You should really put on some clothes,” Edward says, and this time Bella’s heart _does_ lurch, though it’s only the faintest of feelings. Barely noticeable. She only feels it because every beat of her heart is heavy and measured now; every single pump feels labored, like it might be her last. (Alice has been sitting next to her this whole time half-naked?)

Suddenly, Alice’s hand is pushed aside and a new one is taking its place. With it comes the pain. The fire is back full-force in her left hand, now, because _this_ hand, though just as cold and frigid as Alice’s, _isn’t_ Alice’s hand. It isn’t the right size, it’s too big, the palms are too rough, the fingers too thick… it’s not doing what it’s supposed to. It isn’t _helping_.

She wants to scream all over again. _Stop. Come back. I need you. I can’t do this without you._

She stays silent.

“I was going to,” Alice whispers, “but I didn’t want to leave Bella alone. I was going to change her, too, but… I couldn’t leave long enough to get her new clothes.”

Her heart flutters again. (What is _wrong_ with her?) She doesn’t know what she’s wearing, but the fact that Alice, even at a time like _this_ , is worried about how Bella _looks_ … if her whole body weren’t already being engulfed in flames, Bella’s sure the notion would have warmed her heart (and maybe her cheeks). It’s just so _Alice,_ to be concerned with appearances at a time like this. It’s a flash of normalcy in the midst of the chaos, and Bella clings to it like a lifeline.

Edward’s hand suddenly jumps in hers, before clamping down again, much too tightly to be comfortable.

She hears Alice take a few steps back.

“I’m sorry,” her boyfriend whispers. “I… for a second I forgot… they’re redder than I thought they’d be.”

“I’m sorry,” Alice says, and the sound of her voice nearly breaks Bella’s heart. “I didn’t mean to— I keep forgetting, too.” Alice sounds so distraught, so full of despair… Bella doesn’t need to read minds to know that something is _seriously_ bothering her.

_Is this about her eyes?_

Edward clears his throat awkwardly. “So… clothes?”

“I’ll be back.”

She’s out of the room a second later, and the door shuts soundlessly behind her. Edward sighs loudly, and for some reason Bella finds the sound irritating. It’s not… she doesn’t _need_ sighs and moans and quiet platitudes. She doesn’t need Edward’s _sympathy,_ doesn’t _want_ his guilt. Not _now._ Not when so many other things are _happening._ (Alice barely spoke the whole time she was sitting next to her. _Alice_ knew what to do.)

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Edward whispers as he places a soft kiss to her temple. “I’m so sorry.”

And is it completely terrible that all Bella can think about is that Alice had kissed that spot, twice before him, and both times had felt better than this man’s large, clumsy lips against her? Is it terrible that even now, at a moment like this, all Bella can seem to do is… compare them?

It’s not fair; it’s not right. She shouldn’t be thinking about… Edward is _here_ , now. That’s all that matters. It took him a long time (what felt like an eternity), but all that matters is that he’s here now. He’s here, and he isn’t going anywhere.

But still, she can’t help but think… can’t help but notice…

Right now all she wants is her best friend to comfort her, not her boyfriend to worry over her.

 _He isn’t Alice_.

Just then, the office door crashes open, and Edward, who had been sitting next to her, leaps out of his seat like he’s been forcefully expelled.

“Alice,” he says in alarm, “what…?”

“The wolves are coming,” Alice says breathlessly, and at this moment, Bella’s heart _does_ stop.

So stricken is she by this newest piece of information that she doesn’t even realize it’s stopped for good.

 _Wolves?_ she thinks, bewildered. _There are **wolves,** too??_

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another small change. In this story, by this point in time, Jacob and Leah are already werewolves. I had to do it. It just adds so much more _drama._ That’s also your little teaser for next chapter.
> 
> As always, feel free to come talk to me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jasper is silent for a moment. “There’s about a fifty percent chance they’ll attack us without listening to what we have to say. After that, there’s about a thirty percent chance they’ll attack us even after they know. I would say there’s a seventy percent chance of them forcing us to leave.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve managed to (mostly) keep my posting schedule so far. Truly an extraordinary feat.

____________________

“What are we going to do?” Alice asks the room at large.

Her family is crowded in the kitchen, huddled together, trying to… well, she isn’t sure _what_ they’re trying to do, exactly, but they’re trying to do _something_. To figure out some way out of this confrontation, probably. She’s not sure _what_ possible solution they could be searching for, what possible scenario would see the lot of them through this with… minimal strife, and limited casualties, but… well, she knows as well as any of them that they have to do _something_. Complacency is not an option.

“When will they be here?” Carlisle asks, doing his best to project an aura of composure.

Alice drifts off for a few seconds, her eyes going blank as she lets the vision prick at the edges of her consciousness. The images do not flash through her mind the way they always do: like a movie with every-fifth frame cut out; like a memory seen through a thick fog. When the wolves are involved, all she sees is emptiness; blackness. When the wolves are involved, it becomes a matter of seeing everything _around_ the gaps, of putting the future she _can_ predict into distinct, communicable thoughts. When she returns to herself, it’s with a grimace, the only outward evidence that she had been exerting herself. “Seven minutes. That’s when I stop seeing.” Carlisle makes a noise in the back of his throat as he crosses to the front hallway. He stares out one of the windows, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. “Carlisle, what do we _do_?” Alice asks again, when no one else moves to speak.

“Well, we broke the treaty,” Carlisle says simply, his eyes still on the tree line. His gaze is intense, like if he stares hard enough, he’ll be able to look all the way through the forest. “There’s no question about that. I suppose we’ll just have to… explain. Explain our reasoning, why we had to do what we did.” It’s not lost on her that he chooses to say ‘we’ in this instance, rather than ‘you’. ‘Explain why _you_ had to do what _you_ did’ would be more accurate — as she is, without question, the sole being at fault for Bella’s current condition. But, even though she knows she doesn’t deserve his sympathies, some small part of her is comforted by the fact that, even now, Carlisle is determined to see through this situation together, as a family. He’s not planning on leaving her out to hang by herself.

Though maybe he should.

“And,” Carlisle continues, “we just have to hope that this won’t turn to violence.”

Rosalie growls. “I’d like to see them _try_.” Alice quirks an eyebrow at her (she’s never jumped at the chance to defend Bella, before). Rosalie just rolls her eyes. “Oh for God’s sake… Bella’s one of us now, isn’t she? And we protect our family, no matter what.” She says the last bit with a subtle glare at Edward. Emmett puts a calming hand on her shoulder; a silent (perhaps unnecessary) warning.

Jasper nods. “Rosalie’s right. We protect our own. And Bella’s one of us. We just have to tell them… I don’t know. Tell them we _had_ to do it. They won’t be happy with us either way; especially not that friend of hers.” Edward growls at the mention of Jacob Black.

“What do you think they’ll make us do?” Esme asks nervously.

“Honestly?” Jasper is silent for a moment. “There’s about a fifty percent chance they’ll attack us without listening to what we have to say. After that, there’s about a thirty percent chance they’ll attack us even _after_ they know. I would say there’s an eighty-seven percent chance of them forcing us to leave.”

Esme sighs. “What a shame. I do so love it here…”

Carlisle puts his hand on her shoulder. “There isn’t anything we can do but go out there and try to tell them the truth. Come on. We might as well greet them. They know we know they’re coming already. They won’t try to surprise us.”

Everyone moves towards the door, but Alice glances up at the stairs. “Maybe I should stay…” she mutters.

Carlisle shakes his head. “It would be too suspicious if you were missing. They already suspect something is awry. We need all of us to be there.”

“But Carlisle… my eyes…”

“We are not going to lie to them, Alice. They’ll find out soon enough that you’ve bitten Bella. If they believe we’ve hidden you away, or tried to protect you from their retribution, their response could be even more violent than it’s already shaping up to be.”

Alice still looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know about this, Carlisle. You know I can’t see anything when they’re around.”

“We’ll just have to trust that they’ll be reasonable. Sam is a good man, an effective, logical leader. We must try to have a little faith in him.” He tilts his head a little, as if straining to hear something far into the distance. “Come on,” he says quickly, “we only have a few moments left.”

They can smell the wolves approaching about thirty seconds later; the wind picks up their usual burning, unnerving scent, and Alice tries very hard not to let it bother her. She bites her lip, as, slowly but surely, everything goes dark around her.

It’s a strange sensation, the lack of future sight. So often she isn’t even aware of the fact that she’s accessing her visions, of the fact that she’s using the information in them to influence her present actions. The visions and her regular sight go hand-in-hand, connected and intertwined and so thoroughly crossed inside her mind that sometimes it becomes hard for her to pick out which is which, unless she’s focusing _very_ intently.

Without her visions, it isn’t… it’s not like being blind; not _exactly._ She can still _see,_ she’s well aware of that fact, but it’s… it’s more like she’s trying to find her way through a maze, a giant corn maze 20 feet high. She can see what’s around her, the turns in the road and the potential paths laid out in front of her, but it’s like someone’s turned the lights off, and so she’s stumbling her way through the dark, bumping into corners and making wrong turns. The visions are a map, a sketch that guides her in the right direction; if she turns down this way, this is what she’s likely to encounter.

Not having them is unnerving. Alice has never enjoyed it.

She doesn’t like when the wolves are near.

She can’t see anything, now. She doesn’t know how this is going to turn out for any of them. She can’t predict how this conversation is going to play out, and because of that, the future _beyond_ it is… murky at best.

She’s not used to this feeling, and she doesn’t like it one bit.

Alice keeps her eyes down, half-lidded, paying attention to the movement around her only through her other senses. Maybe, she futilely hopes, if they never see her face, then they won’t notice her eyes. Maybe, if Carlisle is able to talk to Sam quietly and calmly, they’ll all be able to get out of this alive. (It’s insane, because they’re _wolves;_ they’re natural enemies, strange biological half-breeds who have specifically evolved to hunt creatures like Alice and her family. She doesn’t care for them, any more than she would care for a wild dog who roams the forest sniffing for its next meal. She doesn’t particularly fear them, nor does she particularly desire to know them and cooperate with them, as Carlisle does. As far as Alice is concerned, the wolves are an annoying but necessary check to the ecosystem; she understands their presence even if it maddens her; she respects their treaty even if she is subtly insulted by the implication that she is some feral beast who needs corralling, from whom humans need protection.)

(Still, for some reason, she doesn’t want them to see her like this.)

Three human forms walk out of the woods, each in a minimal state of dress. She can identify two. One, the leader of the pack, Sam, who they do most of their negotiations with, and the other, Bella’s loyal lapdog, Jacob. The third is a female, but Alice has never met her before.

Carlisle steps forward, taking the initiative to negotiate calmly. “Sam,” he says respectfully, bowing his head.

Sam nods back. “Carlisle.”

“Jacob,” Carlisle again acknowledges. “And I’m afraid we’ve never been introduced,” he says, directing his attention to the girl.

“Leah,” she says stiffly, her expression giving nothing away.

“Ah, the Clearwater girl. Yes, I remember you, now. It’s a pleasure, I’m sure.” Leah doesn’t say anything, just nods coldly, showing no emotion. Carlisle clears his throat. “So, I hate to state the obvious, but I’m a little curious as to why you’re here.” It’s not necessarily a lie. The Cullens have their _suspicions_ , certainly, but as of yet nothing has been confirmed. Maybe this is just a routine house call, a standard _checking-in-on-the-neighbors_ get together. (Ignoring the fact that the wolves have never ventured onto their territory before, ignoring the fact that they wouldn’t risk a confrontation or a breach of treaty for something so trivial, ignoring the fact that the Cullens and the wolves from the reservation do not get along in any sort of friendly capacity, and _certainly_ not as ‘neighbors’… ignore all that, and it might almost seem possible.)

Carlisle continues: “Usually you don’t come onto our land at all, and especially not without advanced warning. I don’t believe this is in the treaty,” he says, his voice a mixture of polite curiosity and subtle warning. He’s making it very apparent that he doesn’t like this blatant disregard for privacy.

Sam glances at Jacob. “Jacob received a worrying call from Charlie Swan, this morning.” He turns his attention back to the vampires in front of him, looking for any hint of recognition. Carlisle just smiles, an innocent curiosity on his face. “It seems that Bella left home a few days ago. She didn’t really give a reason, but she said she was going back to live with her mother. The only problem is that Bella’s mother hasn’t seen her. And he’s worried, you see. He doesn’t know where she is. We know that you’re… _friends_ with Bella.” He struggles over the word ‘friends’. “We were wondering if you knew where she was.”

Carlisle nods. “A very good reason, I see. We do know where she is, Sam. We’re not at liberty to discuss where, only that she is safe and in good hands.”

Jacob growls from by Sam’s left elbow. Rosalie’s eyes flash and she takes a step forward, but Emmett grabs her hand, keeping her back.

“You know where she is.” There’s steel in Jacob’s voice, and ice in his eyes. “Are you hiding her? Keeping her _captive_?” he asks angrily.

Carlisle shakes his head. “Of course not. We’re just… taking care of her.”

“Let me see her. Where is she?”

“I’m afraid she’s a little under the weather right now. Seeing her would be… ill-advised.”

Jacob glances at all the members of the Cullen family, before his gaze lands on Alice. “Hey, pipsqueak!” he calls at her. Alice doesn’t look up, keeping her eyes firmly downward. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” But again, she doesn’t answer. “Hey I’m _talking_ to you!” he yells and this time Alice bristles.

She lifts her head, bringing her blood-red eyes to meet his chocolate brown ones. All three wolves recoil in shock.

There’s a very obvious shift in the mood, then. Edward, Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper crouch a little lower to the ground, bracing for an attack. The wolves tense as well, frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react.

Jacob makes the decision for them. “You bit someone!” he roars and lunges forward, but Sam grabs him and holds him back.

“No violence, Jacob. Not yet,” he says, before turning to address Carlisle. “This is a breach of the treaty, Carlisle. You know that. And you also know that this means there’s nothing stopping us from taking action.”

Carlisle nods. “I am aware. But I _was_ hoping that you would give us a few minutes to explain our case.” He clears his throat. “I also hope you know that… if you _were_ to attack… we _would_ be forced to defend ourselves. That’s in no one’s best interest. I believe we can avoid any bloodshed. At least… I _hope_ that we can.”

Sam nods and steps back, nodding towards Carlisle, giving him the motion to continue speaking, but he doesn’t get the chance. Because suddenly Jacob puts two and two together.

“YOU KILLED HER!” he screams, taking another jump at Alice. Sam once again catches him, enveloping the other man in his strong arms, holding as tightly as he can. But Jacob is shaking, his whole body trembling, his unbridled fury getting the best of him. He’s on the brink of a transformation. Alice can sense it, can taste it on the air, the ripple of energy exploding out of him in shocks. If he transforms, if he’s allowed to shift forms… no one would be safe. Alice doesn’t need her future vision to know that much.

“YOU KILLED HER!” he screams again, and Alice flinches away from the words, ducking her head. Her jaw trembles, her eyes burn, and guilt and grief overwhelm her so strongly that even _Jasper’s_ knees go weak.

“She didn’t kill her!” Rosalie yells back at him, only the strong hand of her husband keeping her from rushing forward and settling things with her fists. “Alice only did what she had to do!”

“You turned her?” And now Jacob’s voice is low and dangerous, and not even Sam is strong enough to hold him back.

“Leah, help me!” he calls desperately to the girl, right as Jacob’s wolf form begins to take over, throwing Sam aside and to the ground. The large, russet-colored wolf that takes his place is a snarling, snapping beast. Though his eyes are the same color as his human counterpart’s, there is nothing within them, nothing recognizable; nothing but rage and blood-lust.

He takes his third leap at the Cullen family, but Leah dives at him, phasing in midair in time to bite him loosely by the neck. Her wolf slams her shoulder into his, knocking him to the ground. They tumble over each other before Leah’s wolf comes out on top, leaping off of Jacob to face him, growling, her back to the Cullens and Sam. She keeps her eyes firmly locked on his, daring him to try and get through her.

Edward flinches, and Alice remembers all at once the stories Carlisle used to tell them, of the wolf pack of the Quileute tribe, and how they had somehow (inexplicably) been able to develop a sort of psychic, telepathic, non-verbal communication between themselves whilst they were in wolf-form. She imagines that the mental screaming match happening between the two wolves in front of them must be causing Edward some significant physical pain.

Sam, in his human form, turns back around to face the vampires. “I have to ask the obvious questions,” he says, and there’s no more trace of cordial good-will in his voice. There is only steel, only barely-suppressed rage. “Did you bite Bella Swan? Did your family turn her?”

Carlisle looks grief-stricken, finally letting his emotions show on his face at the time they’re needed most. “Sam, I swear to you, we never meant for it to happen. It was an accident, all of it. She would have died. She _was_ dying. But Alice was there, and I told her… it was the only way to keep Bella alive.”

“Bella’s a vampire now, then?” Sam asks.

“On her way to becoming one. The transformation is taking place as we speak.”

“And is there any way for you to stop the transformation?”

Carlisle glances at Alice. “No. The venom’s already taken over her system. It’s already stopped her heart. Before, when her heart was still pumping… there might have been a chance… but she wouldn’t have survived being human for another ten minutes, with the injuries she had sustained.”

“And how did she get injured?” Sam’s voice has a well-masked anger behind it, but it’s still noticeable to all present.

“An attack,” Carlisle answers. “There was a vampire hunting her, one that isn’t like us. He got to her before we could keep her safe, but he didn’t bite her. Alice was there in time to fend him off and save Bella.”

“And this other vampire? What happened to him?”

Edward speaks up for the first time, then. “Torn apart and burned,” he says. “He’s gone… for good.”

“Well I must say that’s a bit of a relief.” Sam glances between the members of the family, his expression still stormy. He shakes his head. “But this isn’t _good_ , Carlisle. The other wolves won’t be happy when they hear about this. They’ll call for a response, some sort of an attack. And, I must admit, at the moment I’m inclined to agree.”

“I was hoping we could avoid any violence. Perhaps, if they understood that our situation was dire, and there were no other possibilities…” Sam looks more than a little skeptical. Carlisle chances one small step forward, his arms open, his face beseeching. “I would never wish this life on anyone, Sam; not unless it was necessary. You have to believe me. We never wanted this, none of us did. I _wish_ — I deeply, _deeply_ wish — that there had been another way.”

Sam’s jaw is tight, his shoulders drawn and tense. In front of him, Leah and Jacob still stand in their silent stalemate. “How do you propose we settle this, then? We can’t just ignore the fact that you broke the treaty.”

Carlisle nods. “I propose a compromise.”

“I’m listening.”

“We leave. As soon as Bella is awake and ready enough, as soon as we are confident that she can be trusted to control herself, to stop herself from attacking innocent bystanders… we pack up and leave town and never return.”

Sam’s nostrils flare. It’s the only outward sign that he’s angry, visibly upset by the choice he’s faced with. “And you think I would agree to this?”

“I was hoping you would let us stay around for a little while… a few months or so. Two, maybe three,” Jacob growls from behind Leah, but Carlisle keeps speaking, “to give Bella a chance to gather herself, to… to say goodbye. To her father, her friends…” He glances at Jacob. “I know your backs are against a wall, but so are ours. This wasn’t… we didn’t want this, Sam. And trust me when I say that none of us are getting any pleasure out of this experience. Alice is stricken with grief over what she had to do.”

Sam is quiet for a long while. The clearing is silent, and completely still. No one dares to even breathe.

Finally, he speaks. “I’ll explain the best I can to the other wolves. I _am_ the alpha of this pack, but I can make no guarantees. I think I can get you a month, Carlisle.” Carlisle’s body visibly relaxes, and it feels like they can all breathe, again. “I will extend the treaty _one_ month. Then…” His face darkens. “’Then I set the wolves free. They knew Bella; they were friends with her. I don’t doubt that they’ll want revenge. And after a month, I won’t deny them.”

Carlisle’s shoulders slump in relief. “That’s all I can ask of you. You’ve done us a great service, Sam. I hope you know that.”

“This is because of our history, Carlisle; our _personal_ history and the fact that Charlie Swan is a good friend of the reservation. I don’t want to have to be the one to tell him that his daughter is dead.”

“She isn’t dead,” Carlisle whispers, almost too softly for the shape-shifter to hear. (Almost.)

Sam’s eyes are cold as he regards the Cullen family. “One month, Carlisle. I’ll give you _one_ month. Then I expect you gone, and I want you never to return to Forks as long as I’m alive.”

Carlisle bows his head, taking his eyes off of the enemy for the first time, a show of respect and trust. Sam recognizes this, recognizes that Carlisle is identifying Sam as the superior in this battle of wills and power. If nothing else, he seems to appreciate the show of good-faith. (He would never admit it, not out loud, but Alice knows that Sam has always sort of liked the Cullens — present situation excluded, obviously — and she thinks he would rather not have their stand-off end in slaughter.)

“Leah, Jacob, let’s go,” Sam says, turning his back and heading into the woods.

Jacob barks loudly at the Cullen family, his hackles raised, his feet pawing restlessly at the ground.

“What’s he saying, Edward?” Alice whispers to her brother.

Edward fixes his gaze on the shaking wolf. “Promising our death and destruction, mostly. He’s threatening to rip us apart. Says if Bella is anything less than herself when she wakes up, he’ll hunt us down, treaty be damned.”

Alice takes a few steps forward towards the russet-colored wolf who’s still being held at bay by Leah, in her wolf form, too. “Jacob,” she says, “listen to me.” His head whips around to her, and his dark eyes meet her red ones, his face scrunched up, eyes full of sorrow and wrath. “If Bella wakes up and she’s angry at me for changing her, for… doing what I did…” Alice trails off for a moment before shaking herself. “If she wakes up and she says she wishes I had let her die… You won’t have to hunt me down. I’ll come to you willingly, and I’ll let you kill me.”

No one says anything. She can feel her family stirring restlessly behind her, and she knows that none of them are happy with what she’s just said, but she isn’t focusing on them. She’s keeping her eyes locked with those of Jacob Black, letting him see the truth behind her words, letting him see that she _means_ what she’s saying with all of her heart and soul.

(But maybe Edward’s right, after all; maybe he’s been right all along. Maybe they don’t _have_ souls. Because only a monster could have done this to an innocent girl.)

(She should have just let Bella die.)

“Do we have a deal?” she asks without turning around to look at any of the others.

After a long pause, Edward relays the message. “He says he’s looking forward to it.”

Even in wolf form, Jacob’s face is remarkably expressive. His jaw is clenched, his eyebrow slightly raised, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure in response to her promise. He nods his head once before turning abruptly and sprinting off into the woods. Sam and Leah are right behind him, the former exploding mid-stride into his huge black wolf, galloping off through the trees without even a backwards glance.

Seconds after they disappear into the forest, Alice collapses to the ground, dry sobs wracking her tiny form, causing her shoulders to shake and her chest to heave.

“What were you _thinking_?” Rosalie hisses, falling to the ground next to her sister. “Offering yourself to the _wolves?_ Are you out of your _mind_?”

“Don’t call me crazy, Rosalie,” Alice hisses, her face buried in her palms.

“I will when you go around doing crazy things! I don’t care what you say, Alice; I’m not just going to sit by and let you kill yourself!”

“Rose…” Jasper warns, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Now’s not the time.”

Alice springs to her feet. “You’re right. It _isn’t_ the time. I need to be with Bella.”

“Alice,” Rosalie groans in frustration, “you can’t just make deals with those mutts! You just _gave_ yourself to Jacob Black, don’t you realize that?”

“I do, Rose,” Alice responds coldly. “And I meant it, too. If Bella wakes up and hates me, I’ll let him kill me. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing I destroyed her existence, sentenced her to a life of immortality when she didn’t want it. I couldn’t live knowing that I’m forcing her to watch her friends and family grow old and die in front of her, and never letting her say goodbye. If she wakes up and realizes, rightly, that this is _hell_ that we live in… I’ll let the wolves kill me.”

No one moves. None of her family members even breathe. Alice turns her hard red eyes upon each of them in turn. “I need to be with Bella,” she says with finality, before disappearing into the house.

____________________

It’s silent for a long while out in the Cullens’ front yard. “You don’t think…” Emmett starts, but his wife cuts him off.

“We won’t let her do it. Even if Bella _does_ hate what she’s become, which I _seriously_ doubt… we won’t let Alice do it. Right, Carlisle?”

Everyone turns to the patriarch of their misfit-family. Carlisle clears his throat. “I don’t think we can make that judgment before everything’s… _settled_.” Rosalie splutters with outrage, but Carlisle raises a hand, and she falls silent again within moments. “Tempers are high right now, people are on edge… we’ve all said things we don’t mean, today. I think Alice will feel much better once Bella is up and talking again.” He glances at his watch. “We only have a few more hours until Bella wakes up. I think we need to discuss some things, make some arrangements…” He trails off, but no one needs him to explain himself further.

They all trudge slowly up the stairs and into the house. Edward glances towards the upper floor nervously, but Jasper puts a hand on his upper arm, keeping him still. “Give Alice a few minutes to calm down. She’ll feel better if she has a while to think.”

Edward nods. He knows his brother’s right. Edward himself had always been closest to Alice, out of all his siblings, and though he knows he should be sitting up there with Bella (and he wants to be with her very badly), he also knows that his sister needs this time to herself. So he’ll leave her alone, stay out of her way.

It’s probably the best for everyone.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alice isn’t sure why the act of silent suffering is so terrible for her to witness. Perhaps because, if she allows her mind to wander, to drift away, she can almost imagine that Bella is asleep in front of her. Perhaps because it’s unnerving to watch someone you care about struggle to stoically deal with an impossible task. Perhaps because… well, at least if Bella was screaming, Alice would know that she’s alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants some melodrama this week?

____________________

It’s killing her.

Worse than the flames licking at her body, consuming her heart… worse than the agony she’s being forced to suffer through… this waiting is killing her.

She can’t hear anything. The house is silent.

Edward left her.

 _Alice_ left her.

Alice promised she wouldn’t leave.

Why would she _leave_ her?

But Bella knows why. Logically, she _knows_. There’s a danger approaching ( _Wolves,_ she thinks with something like disbelief. _As if **vampires** weren’t enough. There are **wolves,** too._) and the Cullens need to deal with that. Bella thinks that bodes about as well as can be expected — which is to say, not well at all.

There’s a sick, anxious worry in the pit of her stomach. Her boyfriend is gone, her best friend is gone… the people tasked with protecting her have disappeared, and who knows when ( _if,_ she thinks quietly, her head dizzy at the prospect) they’ll return? Who knows? Because if she’s learned anything over the past few months, it’s that disappearances and Forks sort of go hand-in-hand. All those hikers mauled in the woods by ‘wild animals’, all those people disappearing in the dead of night without a trace…

A new sickness builds in her throat, then, as it dawns on her that… that she is probably going to be one of those statistics. Another girl disappearing out of Forks, Washington. She thinks of Charlie, how he has probably planted himself at his desk for the past few days, refusing food and sleep and sustenance until he finds her. She thinks of her mother, cowering next to her phone as she chews on her nails, her lips, waiting for a phone call that will never come. She thinks of Jacob, her hotheaded best friend, probably driving himself mad with worry, searing in a furious panic for days for any trace of her, anywhere he can. _Everyone_ is probably worried. And she hadn’t gotten a chance to tell anyone she where she was going, that she was probably (maybe) going to be okay. Her mom… her _dad_ …

 _Am I going to be okay?_ she wonders. Is she _really_?

She’ll never be human again. That’s pretty much a given, at this point. She’ll never be the way she was. She knows that much for a fact. And the torture is one thing, the pain of her physical transformation is one thing, but the knowledge that she is changing right now, on this very table? That her old self is as good as dead, as good as buried for all she’ll be able to recognize the woman whose body she is going to inhabit? The fact that, if her father were ever to look upon her new face, he may not even know that he was staring at his own daughter?

The physical pain of her transformation was one thing, but the knowledge of her _difference,_ her _ending_ … that hurt in a completely novel way. Unique. Unexpected and unwelcome.

Will she ever get so see Jake again?

What about Charlie? Renee? Will she ever be able to say goodbye to her parents?

A whole new kind of burning erupts behind her eyes, and one lone tear slips down her face. She may never be able to say goodbye to her _parents_. God, she hadn’t even… she’s barely thought of them the entire time she’s been laying here, teeth clenched and muscles unwavering, fighting for her life. She’s _dying;_ she’s _been dying_ for over a day, now, and she’s barely thought of her parents in that entire time.

It could be hours later, or it could be minutes, it’s hard for Bella to say. Time seems to work differently for her, now. Slower, agonizingly slow, but also so much quicker. It’s distorted, drawing out the pain and forcing the pleasure of _new stimuli_ into condensed periods of time.

It could be hours later, or it could only be minutes, but eventually, she hears footsteps. She isn’t sure how long she’s been here, static and alone, but there are footsteps near her. Someone’s coming for her.

Her stomach clenches, worry surfacing about who it may be. Are the aforementioned wolves about to break down the door, snatch her from this room and steal her off into the woods? (To do what with her, exactly? To kill her? To wait for her to wake up and then tear her to shreds?) What if it’s Victoria, on a mission to avenge her dead mate? Or, worse: what if it’s another hostile vampire, on the hunt for new blood, new victims?

Something feels weird. Off. Something is out-of-place, and it takes her a few moments to place it.

Her heart should be racing right now. That used to happen whenever she was nervous. An unknown potential-enemy is making its way up the stairs right now, perhaps to attack her, perhaps to kill her, but her pulse isn’t sky-rocketing; her heart isn’t racing.

Her heart isn’t beating, anymore.

She hadn’t even noticed.

She should be dead. She doesn’t pretend to know much, but she _does_ at least know that _no heart_ tends to mean _no being alive_.

But she’s still thinking. She can still _feel_ everything. She still feels the pain. Her skin still feels like it’s being ripped off of her body, her muscles tearing and burning themselves within her…

The door opens. She hears footsteps coming towards her, and they’re soft, light, and she immediately feels some of the tension in her body release.

It’s Alice.

Alice has come back for her.

A cool hand is on her cheek, then, and the fire dies a little, Alice’s ice-cold body holding it off. Bella almost sighs in relief, but she can’t let herself relax that much, or else she won’t be able to control herself. (If she lets herself relax, she runs the risk of screaming, and she can’t do that. She _can’t._ She won’t.)

Alice’s thumb is moving on her cheek, and it takes Bella a few moments to realize that the vampire is wiping away her tears.

“Oh God, Bella, what have I done?” Alice whispers, and Bella feels her sink down into the chair next to her. “What have I _done_?”

Her hand slips from Bella’s face down to where her hand lays, limp on the wooden desk. When Alice finally does manage to claim Bella’s hand with her own, Bella feels a surge frustration course through her. She wants to hold Alice’s hand and actually _hold_ it. She wants to be able to squeeze, to apply pressure, to reassure Alice that she’s _alive_ (somehow), that she’s _okay_ (mostly). It would be a lie, of course, but she’s sure it would make Alice feel better. And, absurdly, that’s all she can think about, right now: Alice feeling better; Alice forgiving herself; Alice understanding that Bella does not hate her, that Bella does not hold any ill-will towards her; Alice finally understanding that she did what she had to do, and Bella _knows this,_ and she doesn’t hold it against her.

She wants Alice to know that she forgives her. Because this alternative, where she has to sit and stew in the knowledge that Alice is devastated, that Alice is _tormented_ by her actions, and be completely unable to do anything to counter that? That’s an agony unto itself.

She’s never really seen a vampire tormented before. Unless she counts Edward, that is. But for some reason, Bella _doesn’t_ really count Edward. He’s not really _tormented_ , he’s just moody.

Unlike Alice.

Bella’s never met someone with more energy, with more love in their heart than little Alice Cullen. To hear her this distraught… it’s only serving to make this torture _that much_ more unbearable.

Suddenly Alice is standing up. Bella is gripped with an unconscious fear once more, thinking that something terrible must have happened… _again_. Someone must be injured. Someone must be hurt. The family must be under attack. There must be a reason Alice is leaving her. (Alice promised she wouldn’t leave. She wouldn’t break that promise for just anything.)

Bella isn’t sure which one she’s more terrified of: Alice leaving her, or the reason for it.

Alice slowly extracts her hand, and once again Bella curses her inert body for not letting her grip down, call out, keep Alice with her.

She’s gone for how long, Bella isn’t sure. She just knows that the calming presence that has hovered over her throughout this painful ordeal is missing.

She had spent the time, previously, counting her slowing and increasingly infrequent heartbeats. Now that her heart has halted, she has nothing to do but remain tense, waiting for Alice to return to her.

She does return, some moments later. Bella, again, feels her body relax.

The next few minutes, however, send her brain whirling into action, spinning and working harder than it ever has before. She still can’t move. The fire still burns and chars her, inside and out. She still keeps her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding to stop herself from shattering. But her brain works. And with Alice’s hand roaming her body, softly peeling away her torn and bloodied clothes, she has little else to do _but_ think. She’s sort of glad her heart isn’t beating. If it were, it would surely be jumping straight out of her chest (something that would be impossible for Alice to miss).

So she concentrates on not moving. Every place Alice’s hands ghost over feels mercifully painless for the half-second they remain there. She concentrates on that.

It’s the least amount of pain she’s been in in what feels like weeks.

____________________

The moment Alice walks into Carlisle’s office, all the tension and guilt leave her body (momentarily, at least). All she feels is relief.

For some reason, some illogical part of her had worried for Bella’s safety. As if, because she wasn’t there to watch her, something terrible must have happened to her. But looking at her now, Alice can see that she is safe. For the most part, at least.

When she steps into Carlisle’s office, Alice sees Bella move. It’s the only movement she’s seen the girl make in almost two days, and it freezes her in her place. It isn’t a conscious motion, and certainly not voluntary. It isn’t a movement of an arm, a twitch of the leg… in fact, if she didn’t have superhuman senses, she probably wouldn’t have ever noticed it at all. But she _does_.

Bella’s body lowers about two millimeters. It’s the type of motion the human body makes when it goes from tensing every muscle, to relaxing all of them.

Alice stands still for a long time after that. Minutes, maybe. Her eyes scan Bella’s body, looking for movement, hoping to see… _something._ Anything. Any indication of life, of consciousness.

But Bella moves no further, and so Alice crumbles.

The motionless, pale, dead form of Bella’s body brings the grief crashing back over her like a tsunami. She heard Carlisle outside, she heard him say that Bella’s heart had stopped. But to be in a room with the girl and _not_ hear the consistent ‘ _thump thump’_ of her heart is… unnerving. Unsettling. Not something she had ever anticipated experiencing. And it’s terrifying.

She approaches Bella, trying to keep her footsteps as silent as possible. On any ordinary afternoon, Alice could walk silently without even thinking. Today, however, she is quite understandably shaken. Every movement of her body feels more calculated. She feels herself thrumming with energy, with vitality she hasn’t known in 80-some odd years, and she _likes it;_ she likes the way it makes her feel. But she hates that she likes it. So she refuses to take advantage of it.

But because of that — because she’s keeping every muscle movement tightly controlled, every twitch of the eye reigned in — it’s harder for her to do some things. Like sit comfortably in a chair. Like walk across the floor the way she usually does. God, it’s even harder for her to _walk._

But what causes her knees to go weak, what makes her absolutely _loathe_ herself, what sends her stomach roiling and her skin absolutely crawling, is the single tear slowly dissipating from Bella’s cheek.

She reaches out and cups Bella’s cheek softly, tenderly; as if afraid she might break her. Her thumb moves, feather-light across the other girl’s cheekbone. She’s wiping away that tear, trying to erase Bella’s pain (or at least the evidence of it). But it’s a disconcerting thought, a disconcerting action, she realizes. Because she isn’t doing it for _Bella’s_ well-being, but rather because _she_ can’t bear to sit there and stare at the evidence of Bella’s suffering. And caring for someone because of selfish reasons is no way to care for someone at all.

 “Oh God Bella, what have I done?” she whispers, sinking down into the nearby chair. “What have I _done_?”

Her hand slips from Bella’s face down to where her hand lays, limp on the wooden desk. She slips her hand into Bella’s fairly easily, but the lack of physical response — though expected — unnerves her. She feels as if she can no longer be sure whether Bella is alive or dead. If her skin weren’t flaming everywhere she touched it, Alice may have already given up hope.

Bella won’t move. She _can’t._

Alice can’t remember her own transformation (a small miracle, really, Carlisle assures her), but Rosalie remembers _hers_. Rosalie has talked about it. She told Alice once, many many years ago, that Carlisle had had to strap her down to keep her from hurting herself. And she knows from family folklore that Carlisle himself had barely been able to keep silent enough to keep from being discovered, when he was hiding down in the sewers, amongst the rats and the filth.

She isn’t sure why Bella refuses to move or make a sound, but Alice _knows_ she’s in pain. She has to be. She’s _crying,_ for God’s sake. But she isn’t moving. She isn’t screaming. And, somehow, that feels impossibly worse.

Alice isn’t sure _why_ the act of silent suffering is so terrible for her to witness. Perhaps because, if she allows her mind to wander, to drift away, she can almost imagine that Bella is asleep in front of her. Perhaps because it’s unnerving to watch someone you care about struggle to stoically deal with an impossible task. Perhaps because… well, at least if Bella was screaming, Alice would know that she’s alive.

She wants Bella to move, even a little, just a tiny impulse, a muscle spasm, a tremor of the eyelid… _anything_. Just something that would let her know that Bella’s brain is still intact. It would make her feel better. It would be a small comfort, an island of tranquility amidst a sea of despair.

But nothing.

Alice needs to do something. Sitting still for hours on end has never been an easy task for her. But now, here, with Bella in front of her… it feels damn near impossible.

She has to do something. She can’t… she’s going to drive herself mad sitting here, staring at Bella’s motionless figure, thinking about all the things that might have gone differently, thinking about all the things she wishes were happening now. She’s going to drive herself absolutely mad.

Clothes. Bella needs new clothes. Her old ones are still on her body, ripped and covered with blood. That won’t do at all. Bella needs new clothes; she needs… she needs to be…

Alice stands at once, and in a flash she’s gone, disappearing up the stairs and reappearing only seconds later with clean, new, soft clothes for Bella. Just something to get her cleaned up… something to make her more presentable.

Bella’s clothes have holes and rips in them, from the glass and from the damage James had done to her body, not to mention her pants, which were torn and ripped basically beyond recognition, due mostly to Alice herself.

She just wants to clean her up.

She ends up having to rip the clothes from Bella’s body. It isn’t ideal, but she’s sort of afraid to move her too much. As if shifting her even a few inches might upset the unsteady equilibrium state she’s settled into, might tip her over the edge into either wakefulness or death.

But when Bella is nearly naked in front of her, only covered by her underwear, Alice laughs, a joyous, melodious sound that she had been almost positive she would never be able to emit again.

____________________

Edward and Carlisle come sprinting up the stairs and bursting through the office doors to see the peculiar sight of Alice, standing almost doubled over above Bella’s half-naked body, _laughing._ It’s inexplicable. It’s _baffling_. It’s—

“Alice?” Carlisle asks, bewildered. “What—?”

Alice runs at him and leaps into her adoptive-father’s arms. “It’s working,” she laughs. “It’s _working_!”

It’s then that Carlisle realizes that Alice _hasn’t_ undergone a sever psychotic break, but is rather laughing in _relief_. “What’s working?” he asks her gently.

“The transformation! It’s happening! Look.” Alice grabs his hand and yanks him over to the desk. She gestures at Bella’s uncovered body. “See?”

He tries not to frown (and maybe re-evaluates that assumption about Alice not having a psychotic break). “What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?”

But his question only seems to excite her further. “Exactly!” she exclaims, gesturing wildly. “Look, she isn’t cut! These are her clothes,” Alice holds them up, clearly showing the rips and bloodstains, the tears and tatters and evidence of trauma, “but she isn’t bleeding! Her arm isn’t even broken anymore. Carlisle, it’s working!” Alice dances around the table and hugs her father tightly once more. “I didn’t kill her,” she breathes into his ear and her father smiles and hugs her back tightly.

“Yes,” Carlisle murmurs, “that _is_ good news. The venom is working. And since her heart has stopped, we only have a few hours left.” He puts his hands on Alice’s shoulders, steadying her where she sways.  “Come, Alice; we should go, and leave Bella with Edward.”

Alice recoils almost instantly, pulling away from him faster than the human eye can see. “What? No, I… I’m not _leaving._ Not _now.”_

Carlisle shakes his head. “This is going to be the hardest part, Alice. Bella should be alone with Edward.”

“But…” Alice shakes her head, like she can’t believe it; like she’s _refusing_ to believe it— “but she’s getting better! She’s healed! Carlisle, I… I don’t want to leave her. _Please_.”

“Alice…” Carlisle trails off for a few moments, “I’ll explain everything to you downstairs. Come on. We should let Edward and Bella be. We only have a few hours left.”

Alice looks longingly towards Bella, and Carlisle understands, in that moment, exactly what she’s feeling. He’d felt the same thing when turning Esme, and Edward, and Rosalie, too. That need to be with them, to keep them _safe_ , to see this thing through to the end… he _understands_. Better than probably anyone else. But he also knows that Edward needs to support Bella, in this. The last few hours are the hardest to go through, and Bella needs to focus; she needs all of her focus to be on survival, and no one is better equipped to remind Bella of all she has to live for than Edward.

And, additionally, he’s come to realize that, with her history, Alice may be a bit… _uninformed_ on some of these matters. He needs time to explain a few things to her. For… for everyone’s sake, really. Mostly her own. She’s about to enter a very difficult, trying time in her life; he needs to do whatever he can to prepare her for it.

Alice slumps in defeat. “At least let me re-dress her?”

Carlisle nods. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

____________________

Bella is, once more, half-grateful her heart is no longer pumping. Because in her normal, _human_ state her face would be beet red right now.

She can hear Carlisle and Edward in the room, their voices loud and sharp where Alice’s was soft and soothing. She recognizes the fact that she’s barely dressed. She can feel the articles of clothing on her, and she knows she is wearing… very little.

But it _is_ another thing to be thankful for. Before, in the early stages, all she could feel was fire. Once Alice came back, and was by her side again, she began to feel other things. First it was just Alice’s hand in her own. That was the only thing she felt, besides pain. Then she began to feel the air brushing over her face, the desk beneath her back.

Only now does she even _realize_ that she can feel things besides pain. It’s even beginning to abate, somewhat. She can no longer feel the fire in her fingertips and toes. She feels a jolt of sheer, unadulterated _joy_ at the acknowledgement of the sensation. It’s ending. She knows now that it’s _ending_.

Her shame at being so exposed in front of her boyfriend, his sister, and a man she sees as a semi-father-figure is eclipsed by the joy that her torment is finally _ending_.

Alice is laughing. She can hear that, too. She’s laughing and Bella is worried that she may cry once more, because she will _gladly_ do this for the rest of her life, she’ll take this torture a hundred times over, _anything_ that will ensure Alice’s happiness.

She knows that the vampire isn’t laughing over her situation; she knows that, if anything, it’s _relief_ she can hear in her voice. But the only thing Bella has heard recently, from Alice, is despair. And _that_ has been extraordinarily difficult to recon with. So hearing Alice laugh makes her so relieved that she’s sure she would do _anything_ to keep the sound forthcoming, to keep Alice laughing and _happy, finally_.

Alice is laughing and telling Carlisle that it’s working, that the venom she injected is actually transforming her. Bella knew that already, of course. It was obvious in her lack of heartbeat, but her still-present thought. It was obvious in the fire scorching her already abused body, in the way Alice’s cold hands quenched the flame, in the way it was slowly dripping, up her body, away from her extremities and towards her heart.

It’s working. Which, of course, she already _knew._ But it doesn’t stop the happiness from rising within her. She’s _happy_. Alice’s delight is infectious, and it’s taking over Bella’s heart, Bella’s mind, just as quickly. She feels like she could almost smile, if only her muscles would agree with her.

She hears Carlisle talking again, and makes a concentrated effort to pay attention.

“Come, Alice,” he says. “We should go, and leave Bella with Edward.”

Bella’s heart seizes as Alice responds, sounding surprised and more than a little upset. “What?” she exclaims. “No, I… I’m not _leaving._ Not _now.”_ Bella doesn’t want her to leave, either. She wants Alice to stay. She _needs_ her to stay. Why was Carlisle trying to take her away?

“This is going to be the hardest part, Alice. Bella should be alone with Edward. We only have a few hours left.”

“But…” Alice sounds incredulous, like she can’t believe what’s happening— “but she’s getting better! She’s healed! Carlisle, I… I don’t want to leave her. _Please_.”

“Alice…” Carlisle trails off for a few moments, “I’ll explain everything to you downstairs. Come on. We should let Edward and Bella be.”

From what Bella can tell, Alice hesitates for quite a while before anything else happens.

Bella feels an incredible frustration, then, as she legitimately (for the first time in this ordeal) tries to move. She doesn’t _want_ Alice to leave. She tries to open her mouth and say something, even if it’s only to scream. Because now that Alice is leaving, the pain is returning. Her feet and hands are blissfully fire-free, but the rest of her is still as painful as ever. And now panic is adding to that pain, and she has to do something. She has to move, open her mouth, say something, _scream_ … she has to keep Alice with her.

But now it isn’t _her_ that’s keeping her muscles still. It isn’t any personal, internal effort. Her body is betraying her. It isn’t letting her move.

And then Alice is lifting her, moving her, and gently, almost sweetly pulling clothes onto her. Bella is stunned by the tenderness of the action. But it doesn’t do much to soothe her, because Alice is _leaving,_ Alice is about to _leave_ and she can’t, she can’t—

Something’s wrong. This isn’t _right,_ this isn’t… this isn’t what she _needs_ , she—

Edward slips his hand into hers and squeezes lightly. “I’m here, my love. I’m right here,” he whispers into her ear.

But it doesn’t make her feel better.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am cruelly delaying the moment when Bella wakes up… for _le drama…_
> 
> The slowest burn I’ve ever written, apparently.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	7. Five Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Five Months Ago_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, who knows what I was thinking when I wrote this. A flashback chapter, in the MIDDLE of the story?? Completely unprompted??? Good lord.

____________________

**Five Months Ago**

“When are you going to get over this moody phase you’re going through, Bells?”

Bella sighs and turns a page in her book with the kind of bored disinterest people strive their entire lives to mimic. “What moody phase?” she asks (not at all moodily).

Jacob rolls his eyes and throws himself onto Bella’s empty desk chair. “I mean the fact that you’re hiding in your room, on a beautiful spring day, reading a _book_.”

Bella glances up at him over her battered copy of Wuthering Heights. “I _like_ this book.”

He sighs loudly. “You’ve read it a _thousand times_ , Bella. At least pick up something new.”

“You don’t see _me_ barging into _your_ house and telling you to stop tinkering with your bikes, do you?”

Jacob arches an eyebrow. “You’ve been really grumpy recently, you know that?”

Bella shrugs, but doesn’t look up from her reading. “Does it matter? School ends in like… a month and a half.”

“Exactly! So why are you even _reading_? You don’t have to do anything for the rest of the year! We should go out and have an adventure, or something. You’re seventeen; the world is your oyster.”

“This is still my junior year, Jake. I’m applying to colleges next fall, so I still have to do actual, you know…” she waves her hand vaguely— “ _stuff_.”

“Vocabulary like that, you _definitely_ need college.”

Bella chucks a pillow in his direction. “You’re an ass.”

He catches it easily, without even blinking. “ _Clever_.” He tosses the pillow up and catches it again, tucks it under his head and tips his chair back, like he’s lounging. He folds his arms behind his head, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his shirt. He runs his fingers roughly through his newly-shorn hair (he finally got a haircut that looks halfway decent, halfway close to professional, and Bella’s not going to pretend that she doesn’t appreciate the upgrade).

Bella eyes his arms with something between amusement and confusion. It’s sort of annoying, how quickly he’s changed recently. She knows puberty hits boys later than it hits girls, and she knows that Jake is younger than her, but _still_. All puberty did to her was make her a few inches taller and a whole hell of a lot moodier, prone to breakouts and uncomfortable in her own body, with limbs so long she’s likely to trip over herself whenever she steps onto any sort of uneven terrain. Like a newborn deer learning how to walk.

It isn’t fair that she got _that,_ and Jacob got… _this._ This whole… bulging muscle, thing. She was only gone for a couple years, but she swears he was almost unrecognizable to her the first time she saw him again, after getting to Forks. It was like he shot up 6 inches in a few months, like he gained 20 pounds of muscle in a year. Like she blinked, and suddenly the boy she grew up playing with was gone, replaced by this… _demi-god_ in front of her. And maybe that’s a tad dramatic, she _knows that_ , but… Jesus, his arms look like _tree trunks._ She seriously has no idea how he did it.

And it’s kind of annoying as hell.

“Seriously, I’m busy,” she says then, shaking her head and trying to clear her mind so she stops thinking about _Jacob Black’s arms._ Jake makes a noise of disgust and kicks at Bella’s desk. She shoots him an unimpressed glare. “And if you scratch that, you’re buying me a new one.”

“You’re actually the least fun person I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t have to be here, remember?”

Jake sighs. “Unfortunately, Quill and Embry have been converted by Sam. And now they won’t talk to me anymore. Just like all the other guys on the reservation.” He throws himself down onto the bed next to her, kicking his long legs up onto the duvet. “So as of about a week ago, that means you’re my only friend.”

Bella frowns and bites her lip. She sets her book carefully down on her stomach, being careful not to bend any of the pages, or crack the spine too severely. “I don’t know if you meant for that to sound as sad as it did.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, shifting a little uncomfortably. She knows he’s lying, trying to put on a brave face so that she doesn’t see just how much it bothers him that his two best friends are for some reason suddenly unwilling (or unable?) to speak to him. But he’s stubborn, and his pride runs deep; he isn’t about to admit that to her. Not to her face, anyway. “I just wanna hang out with someone.”

Bella’s eyes soften for a moment, but only a moment, before she looks back at her book. “I’m sorry, Jake,” she says, and she really _does_ feel bad, but— “but I’m really not feeling like an _adventure_ right now…”

He sighs again (and seriously, he’s calling _her_ moody?) and looks down at his lap. “Yeah, I figured. But I gotta say, I’m kind of worried about you, Bells.”

“You’re just looking for someone to hang out with.”

“I mean, yeah. That too. But for real, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been… pretty antisocial, recently.”

“I see Alice,” Bella says easily, shifting on her bed. She crosses her legs at the ankles and tries to pretend like she’s the only one here, like she’s alone in her room and there’s no one next to her, no distractions or pointed criticisms… ah, the dream.

Jake makes a noise in the back of his throat, something vaguely between a scoff and a gag. “Ugh, that’s even _worse_.”

Bella finally closes her book, anticipating that she’s not going to get much peace and quiet for the foreseeable future. “She’s my best friend, Jake,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m gonna spend time with her. Seriously, I don’t understand why you dislike her so much. You never even _talk_ to her. But every time I bring her up, you act like she spit on your dad, or something.”

Jake’s nostrils flare out, just a little bit. A barely-perceptible reaction. Bella sees it, nonetheless. “It’s not _her_ , specifically, just… I don’t trust that family. They’re dangerous, Bella.”

Bella has to fight the _strong_ urge to roll her eyes. “They’re a bunch of teenagers, a doctor, and a woman who likes to cook a lot,” she says incredulously. And, in case it isn’t obvious from her frustration and his obvious pig-headedness, this is _not_ the first time they’ve had this discussion. Her friend has ‘warned’ her about the Cullens on more than a few occasions (always cryptically, always vaguely, just a simple _“I don’t trust them,”_ or _“They’re not who they pretend to be”_ that he absolutely _refuses_ to explain to her), but Bella still can’t understand it. This… _vendetta_ he seems to have against a perfectly quiet and unassuming family. It doesn’t make _sense._ The Cullens are just _people_ ; they’re just _nice people_. There’s nothing wrong with them.

“Doesn’t she have two single brothers?”

Bella sighs loudly and clambers off the bed. Great, now the portion of the conversation where Jacob’s misplaced-jealousy forces her to defend both her own personal tastes and also feminism in general (because women have a right to _choose_ who they spend time with and who they date and where the hell does _he_ get off thinking he has any say in who she spends her time with?). “ _So_?”

“ _So_ … is that why you’re hanging out with her all the time?”

Bella crosses her arms over her chest, her hip cocked, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Is that all you think teenage girls are worried about? Which cute boy is going to talk to them next? That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

Jacob, at least, has the decency to look a little chastised. “Okay, well, then… I don’t know,” he says lamely. “But should you be spending so much time around those guys if you aren’t trying to date them? Isn’t that—”

 “Who are you, my _father_? Am I not allowed to spend time with boys, now? You better watch out, you’re breaking your own rules, and I wouldn’t want to sit here and have to watch you kick your own ass. Oh, wait…”

“Bella, I’m serious.” He stands from the bed, as if to illustrate his point. His body is large, larger than she remembers it being, and he seems to tower over her. His shoulders, framed in her window, seem to nearly blot out the sun.

She scoffs and turns on her heel, her face flushed with anger. “So am I.” She stomps over to her dresser and rips a few of the drawers open. She thinks she might be looking for something (something to change into? a sweatshirt? a new tee? she’s so angry, she can’t even remember), but her eyes stare down at her piles of clothes without even seeing them. “Look,” she calls over her shoulder as she turns around to face him again, “I get that you don’t like them. I don’t know _why_ , but I get that you don’t. But Alice is my _best friend_ ; she’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and her family is _nice_ to me. I like her parents, I like her brothers, I like… well I wouldn’t say that I _like_ Rosalie, but we at least tolerate each other. They’re my _friends_. I like my friends. And I’m going to be friends with whoever I want, so you can stop your preaching right now, because if you’re going to be this annoying anytime they’re mentioned, then you can just leave now and save yourself the trouble.”

“I just want you to be careful,” he says in a whisper, leaning forwards and glancing out her window as if expecting to see someone out there, perched on the windowsill.

Bella huffs and throws her book to the side. “There you go again with that damn, ‘be careful, watch out Bella, they’re dangerous’ crap! You act like you’re scared of them, but you won’t tell me _why_.”

Jacob crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against her headboard. He doesn’t look at her. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Okay, you’re seriously starting to bug me right now. So I suggest you leave before I go over there and act on this very strong urge I have to slap you.”

Jake raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go. But remember what I said. And try not to be alone with Alice, okay?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Promise me you’ll _watch yourself_ , Bella.”

She huffs. “You keep telling me they’re bad people but they _aren’t_! I don’t know what you—” but she’s cut off by the loud chiming of the doorbell. Bella, still glaring at her friend, stomps around him and towards the stairs. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Fine,” he sys as he trails after her down the stairs.

“Fine,” she repeats childishly back at him. Jacob rolls his eyes behind her back.

Bella pulls the door open and can’t fight the smile that tugs her lips up at the sight of the person on the other side. “Boy am I ever glad to see you,” she says, leaning against the doorframe and looking down at Alice Cullen, standing on her stoop like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“I think I could sense that you needed me,” Alice jokes, pushing her sleeves up her pale, ivory skin.

Bella chuckles. “I’m actually starting to believe that.”

Alice’s eyes flicker to something behind Bella’s left shoulder. “Jacob,” Alice says, with a polite smile and a nod at the boy Bella has no doubt is glaring back at her.

Jacob doesn’t respond.

Bella sighs. “I’m sorry, don’t mind him, he’s on his period right now.”

Jacob lets out an indignant huff, and Alice giggles behind a tight-lipped smile. Bella steps aside to let Alice into the house. Jacob is standing in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Alice like she’s about to pull a knife from behind her back and rush him.

Bella stands inside the entranceway, Alice to her right, the two of them watching him expectantly. When it becomes clear he isn’t going to move, Bella sighs again. “Feel free to leave any time,” she prods impatiently.

“What makes you think I’m leaving?”

Bella almost growls. “If you don’t, I’ll tell my father you tried to kiss me.”

His eyes widen, and Bella knows she has him. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Wanna bet?”

Jacob’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go.” His mouth moves with words that Bella can’t hear. She thinks it might just be Jake being a sore loser, muttering curses under his breath. At least, until Alice begins shifting uncomfortably next to her. But that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way Jake could be talking to her, and furthermore there’s no _way_ that Alice could have _possibly_ heard his murderous mutterings. There’s no way Alice could have heard him when Bella (with her pediatric-proven perfect hearing) could not.

She shoves the information to that small part in the back of her mind which is quickly filling with confusing and unexplainable bits of information the longer she lives in Forks, Washington with its strange inhabitants and paranoid teenagers. She shoves it to the back of her mind and tries not to dwell.

Jake brushes past her without looking back, slamming the front door behind him.

Bella laughs uncomfortably and runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry he’s such a…”

“Hothead?” Alice offers.

Bella smiles. “I was going to say ‘dick-brain’ but sure, hothead works too.”

Alice laughs as she moves past Bella, hoisting herself onto the kitchen counter like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. “Don’t worry about it, he’s just being protective. I mean, I don’t blame him, I do have _several_ adoptive brothers… two of whom are single…” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, but Bella merely laughs her off.

“I think I’d rather go my entire life without a date than date one of your brothers. No offense,” she adds quickly, thinking she may have said something distasteful or otherwise rude.

Alice just grins. “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t want to have to fight for your attention. Especially not if it means fighting Edward or Jasper. They’re both bigger than me, you know.”

Bella, for some queer reason, feels like blushing. “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” she says, clearing her throat. “You have my sole and undivided interest. I promise you that.”

Alice laughs and says, with a voice that bends slightly towards melancholy, her eyes glassy and far-away, like she’s looking at something in the distance, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the timeline doesn’t make sense. I can’t for the life of me remember how the original books broke things down in terms of months/seasons, and either way I probably would have needed to change it, so I’m taking some artistic liberties.
> 
> Also I’ve updated the chapter count. 13 was far too conservative of an estimate. This thing is ballooning out of control and I am helpless to stop it.
> 
> (BTW Bella wakes up in Chapter 9)
> 
> As always, feel free to come talk to me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They have incredible senses, and even the slightest of whispers sound to them like average human conversation._
> 
> _When Bella finally makes a noise, it’s loud enough to make all of them jump._
> 
> _She screams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is when things start to get really going.

____________________

“Alice…” Carlisle trails off for a few moments, and makes significant eye contact with his son. Unspoken words pass between them. Edward nods, small and barely noticeable. Carlisle returns the gesture. He glances back towards Alice, whose eyes have yet to leave Bella’s body. “I’ll explain everything to you downstairs,” he finally says. “Come on. We should let Edward and Bella be.”

Alice hesitates for quite a while, obviously torn. She takes a few seconds to dress Bella in her new, clean clothes, before she takes one last long look at the prone and unconscious girl. Only then does Carlisle manage to gently steer her away.

When they get downstairs, the rest of the family is waiting for them. Alice’s expression is cloudy, her eyes looking into some immeasurable distance. But when she notices the other vampires around her, she looks a little bewildered. Esme gestures with her chin, indicating that she should take the empty seat beside Jasper. Alice sits down slowly and cautiously.

Carlisle sets his shoulders, steels himself for the (likely) unpleasant conversation they are about to have. “Do you know what I’m going to say, Alice?” he asks her kindly, his voice soft as new velvet. He stands near her, but not near enough to touch. He knows Alice doesn’t much like to be touched, that she doesn’t find comfort in it the way the others do (Rosalie, Esme, Emmett). She’s like Jasper, in that regard. In many other regards, too. Alice is so like Jasper in so many ways. Carlisle allows himself to consider, for a moment, how _different_ everything might have been if she and Jasper had been able to come together, to bond as mates the way Emmett and Rosalie have, the way he and Esme have. Everything would have been so much _easier_. If only…

Alice shakes her head as she answers, “No. I’ve been ignoring the visions.”

His eyebrows raise subtly, the only indication of surprise. “You can do that?”

Alice shrugs. “I didn’t know that I could, either.” She rubs at her eyes. They must be bothering her. Carlisle remembers well enough the way they burn, they way they seem to dry out with lips, throats, tongues, skin — almost as if the thirst, the longing for blood, could manifest itself in such a physical way. “What did you want to say to me, Carlisle? I really want to be with Bella…”

But Carlisle shakes his head. “I think it’s better if we talk about some things. You need… there are things I feel I should explain to you. Important things.”

“Like what things?”

“You don’t remember your transformation. And you haven’t witnessed one up-close, before. I just… I want you to be prepared for what’s coming.”

Alice swallows, then. If he didn’t know that it was impossible, Carlisle would almost swear that she pales in response. “What’s coming?” she asks timidly, her voice barely-there.

Carlisle takes a breath. Jasper puts his hand on Alice’s knee, his touch soft and unassuming and hardly perceptible. It doesn’t do anything to visibly relax her, but Carlisle is glad for the attempt all the same. “Bella won’t remember the next couple of hours. Right now, the pain she’s feeling is starting to ebb. She should feel practically normal in most of her extremities, and that will continue, until the fire is concentrated in her heart, but then…” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat, “but then her cells are going to die. Well… _freeze_ is a better word. Her cells are going to freeze, and it’s going to happen rather suddenly, over the course of several hours. It’s a complicated process, and I don’t know _exactly_ what happens, but her cells and bones and muscles are calcifying and… they’re freezing in time. It’s very painful. None of us were even able to remember anything during this part.” The room around him is still. This isn’t new information, not for most of the gathered assembly, but his words do not spur particularly _fond_ memories in any of them. Emmett runs a hand through his hair, Jasper squeezes Alice’s knee, and Esme shivers.

Carlisle continues, “And when Bella wakes up… she isn’t going to be herself. That’s important to remember. It… this isn’t just a _physical_ transformation, but an emotional and psychological one as well.”

Alice just sits there, drinking it all in. She stays silent for a full two minutes before she stands. “Then I should be up there with her. Carlisle, _I_ did this to her. And if it’s as bad as you say… shouldn’t I—?”

“I think it’s better if Bella and Edward are alone,” Carlisle cuts her off. “She’ll want someone familiar to her. It will help, if only marginally. Emmett responded wonderfully when Rosalie was next to him during the final stages. It will be the most comfort to her.”

“But…” Alice struggles with her words for a few moments before sinking down, resigned. She stares at her feet, unblinking. Carlisle knew that this argument would be the one to finally sway her. At this point, the only thing on Alice’s distressed mind would be Bella’s comfort, Bella’s safety, above all else. It’s a protective responsibility that they’ve developed over thousands of years. An evolutionary necessity in the wild, where survival is key, where the strength and continuation of the family bloodline is everything.

Selfish personal desires aside, right now all Alice really cares about is doing what’s best for Bella. Just because it would make _her_ feel better to be by Bella’s side, doesn’t mean it would make Bella feel better.

If Carlisle says that Edward is what Bella needs, Alice will stay away.

So she sits next to Jasper. And she waits.

____________________

It’s about seventy minutes later (it’s exactly _seventy-three_ minutes later, but Alice will never admit to counting), when something stirs the family.

They’re vampires. They don’t need to move or breathe when they sit around only each other. They do it in public, at school and with company. They do it for Bella’s benefit, to make her more comfortable, but they have the ability to remain frozen in place for undetermined amounts of time, if need be.

They have incredible senses, and even the slightest of whispers sound to them like average human conversation.

When Bella finally makes a noise, it’s loud enough to make all of them jump.

She screams.

It’s one long, drawn-out, shrill cry that sends shivers through Alice’s ice-cold body. She’s on her feet faster than even _she_ thought she could move. Her eyes flash manically, making her appear unbalanced. “Bella!” she calls, and she leaps for the stairs.

Rosalie is the only one who moves fast enough to catch her.

“Bella!” Alice screams again, fighting against Rosalie’s crushing grip.

“Alice no!” Rosalie growls in her ear.

“Let me go! _Bella_!” She tries again to twist free, but Rosalie is determined, and her grip is sure.

Emmett takes a few steps forward, but Rosalie shakes her head at him. “No. It’s fine. I have her. We’re going outside,” she says, barely audible over Alice’s protests. It’s enough to get him to back off.

Rosalie drags her outside. She seems to have trouble with it, and they make slow progress because of that. It’s difficult, because Alice keeps kicking at her, thrashing around in her grip. And Alice _should_ be strong enough to break free. She’s running on human blood, which makes her theoretically stronger than half of the family combined. But there must some part of Alice (however subconscious it may be at the moment) that still refuses to hurt her sister, the person she’s closest to in their whole family. Some place in the back of her mind won’t let her actually _harm_ Rosalie.

Her escape attempts are half-hearted at best.

When they get about a mile and a half away from the house (a very long distance to travel when pulling along a hostile, twisting vampire), Alice stops her struggling. She finally slumps, defeated, in Rosalie’s arms. It’s only then, once Rosalie is sure that Alice isn’t about to break away from her to sprint back towards their house, that she lowers the pair of them to the ground. She still keeps her arms around her sister, holding Alice tightly, one arm around her waist, the other running fingers through her hair. “You have to get a hold of yourself,” Rosalie murmurs. Alice doesn’t respond, just buries herself further into her shoulder. “Alice, come on. You need to calm down. Bella will be okay. We’ve all been through this. She’ll be okay.”

“But I… I _did this,_ Rose.”

“You keep saying that. Two hours ago you were cheering.”

“Two hours ago Bella was getting better!”

“It isn’t about getting _better_ , Alice. You shouldn’t think like that. That’s not what this is. Okay?” Alice just stares down at her hands. Rosalie sighs. “Two more hours, yeah? Two more hours and she’ll wake up.” She runs her fingers through Alice’s short hair. “Two hours, Alice.” They sit quietly like that for a while longer, just breathing together out in the forest. “We can go back, if you want?” she offers softly. “Now that you’re calm…”

But Alice shakes her head, still buried in her sister’s clothes. “I can’t go back. Please don’t make me go back. If I hear…” Alice shudders, a rare and strange occurrence for her.

Rosalie nods. “Okay. We’ll stay here until it’s done.”

And they do.

____________________

The fire feels like it’s moving through her rapidly. It’s traveling up and up and up, seeping from her fingers and her toes, her hands and her feet, leaving nothing but numbness in its wake. Now she feels nothing below her shins, then nothing below her knees, below her elbows. But it isn’t that she doesn’t feel _fire_ , as she originally thought and rejoiced over — not quite. Rather, she doesn’t feel _anything_.

Edward is holding her hand and singing his lullaby to her. It’s… distracting, but not in a good way; not in the way he expects. It’s irritating more than anything. She sort of just wants him to shut the hell up so she can panic in _peace_.

The fire is withdrawing, leaving numbness behind, and the more it seeps through her veins, the stronger it gets in the places it remains. As if it’s being sucked up through her body and condensing in her heart.

It gathers, and gathers, and Bella is terrified of what could happen when it reaches its peak.

She works harder than ever to get some part of her body to move. She can no longer feel her legs or her arms. In a few minutes, she’s quite sure she’ll lose all feeling in her head and her face. She has to do something before then. She’s… she won’t be able to survive this without… without _something_. She needs something.

What does she need?

Her brain isn’t working anymore. She can’t think… she needs _something,_ but why can’t she remember what it is? Why can’t she… why…?

It’s desperation, not pain, that finally lets her open her mouth and scream. She’s hurting so badly, has been for _days_ , and her body has been aching to release some sort of sound to relieve the pressure the entire time. But the pain, she thinks the pain she could deal with. What she can’t deal with is the panic, the _fear_ , the feeling that this could be it, that this is all drawing to a close. As the fire leaves her extremities so does all sensation, and Bella is left wondering if her consciousness, her very life force will be the next to follow.

Her mouth opens and she screams. Edward doesn’t even jump next to her. It’s as if he’s expecting it. He grips her hand tighter — a small comfort, really — and doesn’t say a thing. She imagines his face must be twisted in some sort of grotesque grimace, some sympathetic contortion of the face that means he feels _sorry_ for her, that means he _feels her pain_ and wants to _help._

It only makes her want to scream more.

When she hears Alice’s voice from downstairs, calling her name, yelling out for her, Bella is able to gain back some control. As if the primitive part of her brain recognizes Alice’s voice, recognizes that by screaming she’s really only hurting Alice (hurting Edward). It’s how she’s able to force the sound to stop, slam her mouth shut, and regain control over her body.

The fire is concentrated in her frozen heart now. Nothing exists beyond the blaze in her chest. She’s sure it’s enough to burn a hole straight through her skin.

It explodes.

Everything goes dark.

____________________

Rosalie is on her back on the wet grass. Alice is lying next to her, her head on top of her sister’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathing evenly. Rosalie has her arms wrapped around Alice’s shoulders, just holding her. They fit together comfortably, naturally. Still, she can’t help but miss Emmett. He would be a nice comfort for her, she thinks, out here in the dark.

Not for the first time in the sixty-odd years it’s been since Alice joined their little family, Rosalie finds herself pondering Alice and her continued solitude. Her loneliness. Not that Alice would ever admit to being lonely, of course. But… well, Rosalie has to wonder.

It’s been decades since Alice has been involved with anyone romantically. In the beginning, after Carlisle found Alice (or, more accurately, after she found them), it made sense why she wasn’t interested in finding a mate. She was still struggling to get her visions under control, as well as her hunger, and nobody faulted her for taking time for herself, to figure herself out. And then, once she found Jasper, it seemed they were practically made for each other. Finally, Alice would have a companion, like Carlisle and Esme, like Rosalie and Emmett. But, surprisingly, there was hardly ever any romantic tension between them. In fact, both parties vehemently stressed that they were only ever interested in friendship.

Rosalie never quite understood that.

Jasper is wonderful. He’s kind, and handsome, and sweet as can be to everyone around him. He would be a good counter to Alice and her never-ending supply of energy. He would calm her, teach her to be more patient, and she would teach him to have fun and actually _enjoy_ this cursed life they all share. Sure, they can do that now, platonically, but…

Well, is it such a crime to want them to be happy? She thinks they deserve some happiness, after all this time. And if they can find it in each other… It would certainly be a neat solution. And it makes _sense,_ it _does._ They’re both so lonely. Alice is better at hiding it, but Rosalie knows that it’s there. She can see it in the way Alice’s gaze turns wistful and almost glassy when she watches those terrible romantic comedy movies Rosalie can’t stand. She can see it in the soft, sad curve of her smile, whenever she politely declines double-date invitations.

Rosalie worries for them. For both of them.

She and Esme had tried, for a few decades (perhaps a little indelicately) to push Alice towards potential romantic partners. First Jasper, then an assorted number of both male and female vampires who shared their moral position throughout the years. Nomadic vampires, or those from their sister coven in Alaska — pretty much any single vampire who did not drink human blood. Jasper has had a few flings with vampires in other covens over the years — even a rather serious one with one of the women from the Denali tribe — but none have stuck. Jasper has always returned to them.

But in sixty years, Alice hasn’t had a single lover, human or otherwise. She and Edward found kindred souls in each other, in that regard. In sixty some odd years, they had never found anyone worth the risk. Both seemed adamant that they would live out their immortal lives alone.

Or at least, they _had._ Until Bella came along.

Within a few weeks, it was as if Edward became entirely cured of whatever hopeless funk he had fallen into for a hundred years. Alice, too, rejoiced in her newfound friend. They seemed to _come alive_ again. Alice, particularly, practically _ignited._ While she was never the sulky, moody, sullen pain-in-the-ass that Edward had been for a century, the difference between _Before Bella_ and _After Bella_ was unparalleled. Rosalie is confident that she would be lost without her.

She has to find someone soon.  She _has_ to. Alice, more than anyone in the world, deserves love. Rosalie knows that. She believes it with everything she has.

Rosalie sighs. There’s no use lamenting about it now. Not after everything that’s happened. Not when it’s all about to get so much more complicated.

Something moves to their left.

Rosalie tenses where she lies. She doesn’t smell any animals, nor any humans. But her senses are rarely wrong, and she knows she can hear the sound of something heavy shifting off in the trees, pressing down on thick grass and damp soil. Right as she’s about to leap up to fight off this unseen enemy, she feels Alice smile against her collarbone. She doesn’t even bother to open her eyes.

“Hello, Jasper,” she mumbles, almost sleepily, and Rosalie feels relief and calm wash over her at once. (She’s fairly certain that’s Jasper’s doing.)

The man in question takes a step out of the tree line, smiles at them, and walks over. He sits silently, looking off into the distance without saying a word. Rosalie knows that he, better than probably any of them, can walk without sound. He must have purposely broke a twig, rustled some leaves, to alert them to his position. He didn’t want to startle them.

Ever the gentleman, her brother.

“You knew I was coming,” he finally says. It isn’t a question, but Alice answers it anyways.

“Yes.”

“So you’re not ignoring the visions anymore?”

Alice laughs, but it doesn’t quite show on her face. “We’ve lived together for sixty years, Jasper. I could smell you.”

Jasper chuckles, too. “I should have guessed.”

It falls silent, then. No one speaks for a good five minutes.

“Did you get tired of sitting with the rest of them?” Rosalie asks.

Jasper shrugs. “Emmett is very depressing without you around,” he offers with a half-smile.

Rosalie laughs, too, the sound rumbling through her chest and jostling Alice on top of her. “He’s a miserable lump,” she says, looking up towards the sky fondly.

Alice shifts slightly, wrapping her arms just a hair tighter around Rosalie’s waist. She still hasn’t opened her eyes.

Rosalie kisses the top of her head. “Not long now,” she whispers.

Alice nods but doesn’t speak.

So they wait.

 

 

Alice tenses, and Rosalie does the same, her grip automatically tightening around her sister. “Alice…?” She ventures tentatively.

Alice springs up, using her newfound and untested strength to rip away from Rosalie easily. “She’s awake.” It’s the only thing she says before she’s disappeared through the trees, leaving only a faint smell of lavender and vanilla behind.

“Oh hell…” Rosalie whispers before leaping to her feet and taking off after her sister, Jasper not two steps behind her.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s no sound. No breathing. Not even hers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooo

____________________

There’s no sound. No breathing. Not even hers.

For a moment, the absence of pain is all she can comprehend. The itching, burning, agonizing sensations she’s had to endure over the past few days… all gone, in the blink of an eye. One minute she’s unconscious, struggling to keep her body under her control, sure that at any moment her bones are going to snap in half, that her skin is going to scorch itself completely off her muscles and she’s going to finally die, and then…

And then she opens her eyes.

The first thing she notices is the brightness. The light from the overhead ceiling fixture feels hot and uncomfortable and intense, unbelievably intense, like she’s staring directly into the sun. She squints against the glare and for a moment it feels like her head is caving in on itself, like her eyes are sinking back into her skull. But she blinks a few times, very rapidly, and her vision clears almost at once. It’s only then, when the picture around her begins to come into focus, that she looks above her in wonder.

Everything is so _clear_. Sharp. Defined.

The world as she knew it is gone, replaced with this new, wonderful place. The brilliant light overhead is blindingly bright, and yet she can plainly see the glowing strands of the filaments inside the bulb. She can see each color of the rainbow in the white light, and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth color she has no name for.

Behind the light, dust motes dance and spin and whirl around each other. Some jump lazily, catching the breeze as they twist and fall. Others move erratically, flitting between strips of light and through patches of nothingness, before haphazardly disappearing.

The sight is so hauntingly beautiful that she inhales sharply. It’s her first whiff of air in this new, strange place.

It’s the taste, more than anything, that shocks her. Before, air was just air. But now it’s so much _more_. Now there are _pieces_ of that air. It tastes like dust, and pollen. She can taste flowers, and wood, and _life_.

There’s a faint hint of something… desirable. She doesn’t know what it is, but it makes her eyes flutter shut. Flowers. Flowers and something else… honey? Vanilla?

 _Want_. She feels it flood through her, hitting her so hard in her stomach and throat that she almost wants to sag back against the table, almost wants to spring into action and chase down that incredible, intoxicating smell…

Is this what the hunger feels like?

She isn’t sure.

She hears the others. It sounds like breathing, and people moving about on couches. Then she hears footsteps and someone (a woman?) bustling up the stairs. There are three people downstairs, and one in this room with her. She can tell just by listening, just by the sounds of their skin brushing against fabric, just by the pace of their perfectly-timed breaths.

She doesn’t have time to process the ridiculousness of that statement, and the even more ridiculous reality that it’s _true._ There are too many things around her, too many stimuli grabbing at her attention, faster than she can even notice. One moment it’s the light, the next the dust, the next the smell of the dew in the grass outside, the next—

She also hears a faint, thudding rhythm, with a voice shouting angrily along to the beat. Rap music? She’s mystified for a moment, and then the sound fades away like a car passing by with the windows rolled down.

With a start, she realizes that this could be _exactly_ right. Can she hear all the way to the _freeway_?

A hand brushes her shoulder and her muscles clench up again, like they had been for the past three days, to hide the pain. There’s someone _touching_ her.

This hand is wrong. It _feels_ wrong. It’s large, and rough, and the wrong temperature. It’s not cold. Who has taken the spot next to her, since she’s been unconscious? What strange person has entered this space and gotten close enough to put his hands on her?

After the first frozen second of shock and the flash of panic she feels gripping her muscles, her body responds to the unfamiliar touch in a way that confounds her even further.

Air hisses up her throat, spitting through clenched teeth in a low, menacing sound like a swarm of angry bees protecting a hive. Before the sound is even all the way out, her muscles bunch, arch, and twist away from the unknown. She flips off her back in a spin so fast it should turn the room into an incomprehensible blur — but it doesn’t. She sees every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as her eyes whirl past them.

A beat later and she finds herself crouching against the wall defensively, her hands pressed flat against the cool feeling of the wood at her back, still unsure of where she is and why this is all happening and how did she _get here_ and who _is this man_ looking at her like she’s some feral, wild thing about to savage him?

Her red eyes flash from the man, still sitting in a chair next to the desk, and the door, where one woman and two men stand, peering in at her. They all look cautious, maybe a little perplexed. They watch her very closely, like if they blink or turn away they might miss something significant. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffen as she closes her body in on itself, already disliking this feeling of being _watched_ being _monitored_ being _afraid of._

The man next to the desk moves, and she whips her head back around towards him. He takes a step towards her, and she growls at him, making him freeze.

She didn’t even know she _could_ growl.

“Bella,” he says calmly, addressing her, “it’s me. Edward.”

Her eyes only narrow at him, meeting his gaze. Bella… that must be her name. _Bella_. It’ll work as well as anything. She studies his eyes, and there’s something familiar in them, something that jogs her memory…

She shoves herself further back into the wall when she hears pounding footsteps from downstairs. Someone is heading up towards them at a blindingly fast speed, followed by two others. Someone shouts, and Bella snaps her teeth.

The people by the door are being jostled. The largest man is trying to hold someone back, but he’s not having much success. Again the bronze-haired man tries to move towards her, but Bella snaps her teeth again, this time at him. He frowns but withdraws the offending appendage quickly, cradling his fingers against his chest as if she actually _had_ bitten him. Something about that irks her, though she can’t quite figure out what.

It’s chaos by the door. Obviously, the people she’s already seen seem to be pretty desperate to keep the others out. Bella, with whatever part of her brain is left to think and analyze information and theorize, wonders why.

“Bella!” someone calls, and the-woman-now-known-as-Bella freezes where she is. Everything else disappears. The lights, the smells, the sounds from out near the freeway… they drop away and Bella is in free-fall. That voice… it pulls at the back of her mind. She remembers… She remembers… _what_ does she remember? And why can’t she remember it?

Someone — she can’t yet tell who — finally manages to shove their way through the crowd in the doorway. Bella doesn’t move, but the girl (she can see now that it’s a woman) stumbles through the press of bodies, dodging hands that swipe at her until she’s inside the room, panting, with her hands on her knees. She studies the girl with red eyes, so different from the others around them, her head tilted to the side and her nostrils flared as if scenting the air for information.

The girl runs forwards. The bronze haired man shouts, “Alice, no!” but the short, petit girl doesn’t listen to him.

Bella reacts on instinct. She stands from her crouch, and before she’s even aware of it, the girl, Alice, has launched herself through the air.

Bella catches her.

Alice’s arms are around her neck in mere moments, her fingers wrapped tightly in Bella’s long hair. Bella’s own hands find their way around Alice’s waist and hold her tightly. Her body is warm, and lighter than Bella was expecting, but it feels… Bella holds her, and inhales a breath she does not need. Her mind goes a little hazy as her senses are overtaken by a new, wonderful, _impossible_ smell. Alice’s face is hidden in her neck, and she’s inhaling deeply. Her legs are wrapped around Bella’s lower body, but Bella doesn’t even feel the extra weight.

Bella suddenly recognizes herself. Not like pulling off a mask or coming face-to-face with someone thought to be a stranger in a dark room, only for the lights to come on and reveal a close personal friend, but rather more like she has been staring into a fogged-up mirror until now and someone’s only just wiped the glass clean. Like a half-recognizable picture coming into focus. She _remembers_ now.

“Alice,” she breathes out, reveling in the close contact between the two of them. God… thank _God_ she’s here. She’s _missed_ Alice. She’s needed her. And now that she’s finally here, Bella thinks never been more relieved. She feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest, off her shoulders; like her chest is finally decompressing.

A moment later Alice slides from her grip and the smell hits her full-force. Lavender and vanilla. _Alice’s_ scent. Alice pulls away completely then, and Bella looks at her, _actually_ looks at her for the first time. She’s certain she’s never seen before this second.

How had she ever before looked at Alice, seen her face, and thought her beautiful? How had she seen perfection, looked upon its heavenly visage, but never actually _seen_ it?

How often had she spent time with Alice, spoken to her, slept next to her, even? How many times had she gazed into Alice’s laughing face and been awed? Too many for her to count, probably, but she feels like a fool, an absolute buffoon, an idiot and a sorry excuse for a seeing-capable being because she can now say with _utter_ certainty that anything she may have seen before this, any glimpse of any perfect sunset or natural wonder, has been wasted on her.

She may as well have been blind.

Beauty, splendor, magnificence, radiance, brilliance… perfection personified. Nothing has ever compared to this moment.

For the first time, without her dull human senses clouding her judgment, Bella sees Alice’s face. And she almost gasps. She struggles with her words, with vocabulary, for a few moments that seem to stretch on for eternity. She tries to open her mouth, to speak, but her voice is gone, stolen by the angel in front of her.

There’s something pulling on her, right behind her sternum. Something that feels like a string has attached itself to her heart and it’s tugging her forward, pulling her against her will and against her better judgment (but she’s not fighting it, she doesn’t _want_ to fight it; she’s at the mercy of whatever being has control of her body right now but she doesn’t even care, can’t even bring herself to be upset about it). Her eyes drift shut of their own accord and she leans forward, just slightly, bringing her lips within inches of Alice’s. For a breathless moment she thinks it’s actually going to happen, Alice is actually going to _kiss_ her (Alice is going to _let Bella kiss her_ ) and her frozen, un-beating heart feels like it hits a stutter-step in her chest.

Alice’s hand, applying gentle pressure on her shoulder, stops her just a few inches short.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight up wanted to put some snarky comment in parentheses after this line: “How had she seen perfection, looked upon its heavenly visage but never actually seen it?” but couldn’t think of anything clever enough that would still be in-character. So pls just imagine I wrote something terribly clever.
> 
> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She feels as if she’s a new person, a new being entirely. Like there had been some part of her lying, dormant and asleep, somewhere in the recesses of her brain, and it’s only just awoken. She remembers what it was to be the human version of Bella Swan — she can see her, somewhere off in the distance, somewhere buried deep within, but she can’t reach her or speak to her. Some outside force has interfered, has placed another person within her body and merged the two together and consequently forged something original in her place. She is not who she was, not anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks I am NOTORIOUSLY bad at updates and unfortunately I am unlikely to get any better. I’ll do my best to update as quickly as possible, but it gets harder from here on out because we're now entering territory of "things I haven't written yet" so... anyway, sorry in advance.

____________________

Bella blinks as she comes back to herself. Her eyes open slowly to lock with Alice’s red ones. Alice’s hand is still on her shoulder, lying flat against her collarbone, her thumb resting just shy of her pulse point. Like pulling herself out of a deep slumber, Bella slowly becomes aware of the room around her.

Now that the haze of her coma (for lack of a better word) has faded, Bella is beginning to remember things. Bits of her life flash through her mind, like a flipbook skipping by too quickly. Memories overpowered by people: Renee, Phil, Phoenix, Charlie, her school, Angela, Jess, Ben, and Mike (in very quick succession), Jacob, the Cullens, Alice, Edward.

 _Edward_.

The bronze-haired man she’d growled at. Bella feels guilt crash over her at once, a wave of nausea so sudden and heavy that she sways where she stands, unsteady on her feet. She lets go of Alice almost at once, and stumbles forward a few steps, in his direction.

She looks to her boyfriend. “Edward…” she says, and then startles; the sound of her own voice had alarmed her. She has to pause to gather herself, working her tongue against her teeth as if that will remove the uncomfortable feeling from the inside of her mouth. She’s not sure if a new voice or new ears that are making her sound this way, but it’s different. _She’s_ different. Her body feels different, the way she holds herself, the way her shoulders pull back instead of hunching forward, the way her arms hang at her side and her feet situate themselves against the floor. There’s a rippling under her skin, something tense and excited and _strong,_ unbelievably strong. Her eyes flit back and forth like they can’t stand still, darting over different objects almost too quickly for her to process what she’s seeing. Her teeth feel like they don’t quite fit in her mouth. Her tongue is dry. Or is it her throat?

There’s a long pause in the room (is it long? Or is it impossibly quick? It’s so difficult to tell — she’s not sure how time is moving, now; if everything is slower or if she’s just suddenly become much quicker, but it feels like she’s spinning), an uncomfortable beat that lasts only long enough for Bella to inhale sharply. Either the sound spurs him into action, or else it’s simply the _familiarity_ of such a _human_ action, but at once Edward takes the three steps needed to sweep Bella into his arms.

He pulls her against him, tight to his chest, his arms wrapped so tightly around her shoulders that she would have been worried for the integrity of her ribs were it not for the fact that she’s pretty sure she’s as good as indestructible, at the moment. It’s a strange feeling, a strange realization, bizarre and not fully comfortable. Bella brings her arms up to touch him, to return his embrace, to cling to him as tightly as he’s clinging to her. But in the end, her hands fall timidly to his shoulders, not grabbing so much as hovering above the fabric of his t-shirt. After all, she’s not sure what her touch can do right now — she can’t be too careful of anything.

Edward embraces her for a full minute before he finally pulls away. He holds her at arm’s length, and looks her up and down, as if to check her for damages.

Bella, briefly, wonders what he sees; she wonders what his eyes pick up, what differences he can see now in her skin and in her hair and in her lips. She wonders what she must look like, what it must feel like for him to see her now, as this transformed creature who is not fully sure she’s still inhabiting the same body.

The curiosity doesn’t last.

Edward’s eyes are still examining her, scrutinizing every inch of her skin. His gaze falters briefly at a spot on her neck, but he quickly moves on. If she were still human, Bella would have missed the pause. As it is, his lightning-fast movements look _normal_ to her. How strange. She wonders what else she missed, before she was able to see. “What?” she asks, bringing her hand up to her neck, covering the spot he hadn’t wanted her to notice him noticing. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Edward says, shaking it off. “Just a scar.”

Bella frowns. “I have scars?” She hadn’t known that was common, for vampires. She’s always thought part of the transformation included a healing of all prior wounds. (She’s not sure why she thinks that. She’s not really sure Edward ever said as much to her. So why is that thought in her head?)

“Just four,” Alice’s quiet voice answers from behind her, and Bella whips around quickly. Alice blinks in surprise, visibly taken aback by the swiftness of the action. It must be odd, Bella reasons, seeing her moving as quickly as them. Bella, whom they’ve only ever known as human (and a very clumsy human, at that), now with the physicality of a vampire.

How strange. How strange that it doesn’t feel strange to her at all.

(She feels as if she’s a new person, a new being entirely. Like there had been some part of her lying, dormant and asleep, somewhere in the recesses of her brain, and it’s only just awoken. She remembers what it was to be the human version of Bella Swan — she can see her, somewhere off in the distance, somewhere buried deep within, but she can’t reach her or speak to her. Some outside force has interfered, has placed another person within her body and merged the two together and consequently forged something original in her place. She is not who she was, not anymore.)

(She feels no remorse for the person lost, only an acknowledgement that something had once been, and now is no longer.)

“Four?” she asks. She’s not sure this line of questioning is important, but she’s still so confused, so unsure, that any question at all brings about the possibility of potential answers, and _those_ she desperately needs.

Alice nods. “Four. I bit you four times.”

Realization dawns on Bella’s face. Alice looks down sheepishly. “Oh,” she breathes out, as another moment of sick, unexpected guilt overtakes her. She doesn’t like the feeling; it makes her mouth taste foul and the back of her neck itch.

She doesn’t like making other people feel bad. And she seems to have already done it twice, now, and she’s only been a vampire for five minutes. Is _this_ the kind of vampire she’s going to be? God, she hopes not.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Bella,” a sweet, honey-coated voice says from the doorway, and Bella suddenly remembers the rest of the family watching this little scene unfold.

The five vampires who had been observing them now enter the room (at Carlisle’s subtle insistence), and one by one they move forward to embrace their new sister.

Edward she knows. Honey and lilac. It’s always been _his_ smell; the calming aroma he gives off that she responds to so well.

Alice is engrained in her brain just as firmly as her brother. Lavender, vanilla, and something else, something that’s just _Alice_. It reminds her vaguely of sunshine, or maybe that smell that seems to fill the air at the start of summer, the smell of warm air, and new beginnings, and lazy days, and freedom.

Carlisle smells like a warm house in the middle of winter. He smells like cuddling under a soft blanket, like falling asleep next to the person you love… Carlisle is unique to the others because he doesn’t smell _like_ something, rather his smells _remind_ Bella of things.

Esme is next. The mother-like vampire pulls Bella into a tight hug, and Bella, once again, uses the time to memorize the woman’s smell. Esme smells like flowers. Hyacinth, Bella thinks, though she can’t be certain. There’s also a hint of something else… rising bread? A woman who never cooks has the smell of cooking hanging around her. It’s rather unexpected, but Bella can’t help but warm at the realization.

Emmett shoves forward next, scooping her up in his massive arms and spinning her around, laughing the whole time. It makes Bella smile, too. He smells like the outdoors. She shouldn’t have expected anything else, really. His is an odd mixture. Pine trees… she definitely smells pine. Also… seawater? He smells like a beach right before a storm. And worn leather rubbed soft. This makes Bella chuckle. He smells like leather, like the interior of an expensive car. It suits him nicely.

Rosalie is hesitant in showing Bella any affection. They’ve never been close, nor have they ever really _touched_. But Rosalie, in the end, doesn’t let her pride stop her from hugging her new sister.  

Rosalie’s scent is exotic. As if her appearance wasn’t enough, she smells enticing, and new, and mysterious. Hers is a mix of spices, cinnamon being the most prominent. Spices and a faint hint of bittersweet chocolate. Bella thinks that’s quite fitting.

When Jasper hugs her, Bella is expecting something that reminds her of the south, of hot days under a sweltering sun, of mud-caked boots and blood-soaked clothing, and maybe war. She doesn’t get it. What she does get is… fruit. She almost frowns. It’s not a smell she would typically associate with Jasper, but now that she smells it on him, she couldn’t imagine anything else. He smells like apples, and pears, and moss, soft moss that feels like velvet under your feet as you run barefoot on a cool summer’s night.

She knows that vampires rely heavily on their sense of smell, knows that they often pick each other out by smell rather than eyesight. She knows that scent is important to them (she remembers how Edward had reacted when he’d first smelled her), but the onslaught on her senses is still enough to send her head reeling. There’s so much to take in and process, so many new things she needs to notice, new smells to capture, new textures to run her fingers over. She’s never seen the world this clearly, never heard such a cacophony echoing around her, nor smelled this many individual notes… she’s already starting to feel overwhelmed.

Once she’s stepped away from the group, the air clears slightly. She doubts she’ll ever be able to breathe in and smell _nothing_ ever again, but at least the air is… _emptier_ where she is now. It helps her clear her mind, her thoughts; focus in on the things that matter, the things that are important and pressing and necessary. Like the fact that they’re all staring at her. Like the fact that Alice has a hand on her upper arm, like she’s afraid to let go of her.

“Are you okay, Bella?” Alice asks, and Bella nods. She thinks she’s okay. She’s… it’s hard to say, really. But she _feels_ good. Infinitely, impossibly, _immeasurably_ better than before. That has to count for something, right?

Still, she can’t help it when her eyes flutter closed. She brings a hand up to her head and presses against her temples there. She’s not sure why why she does it. It’s not like she has a headache (can vampires get headaches? she never thought to ask). It’s pretty much all muscle memory, at this point. Finding comfort in a familiar yet entirely unnecessary action. (How very human of her.)

Edward frowns in her direction, but Bella misses the expression.

“It’s rather a lot, isn’t it?” Carlisle asks her kindly.

Bella looks up and smiles sheepishly at him. “Kinda, I guess. I wasn’t really prepared for… I mean I didn’t know it would be like…” She trails off and swallows loudly. “Sorry. I’ll get used to it.”

“You have forever to get used to it,” Edward says to her with a smile on his face.

“Forever…” Bella says softly, rolling the word around on her tongue. “Sort of daunting, isn’t it? I have _forever_. It’s a long time.”

Is this the first time she’s thought that? No, it can’t be — she’s known what this process entails since the very beginning. But is it… it might be the first time she’s tried to internalize it. _Forever._ She has _forever_ with these people, with this body, in this life. It’s… how can she process that? How is she meant to come to terms with the scope of that, with the scale of _eternity_ when all she’s ever known is a finite, human existence? And she’s young, she’s only 17 still, it’s not like she’s spent a lot of time grappling with the inevitability of her death, but… but _forever._ Forever is something else entirely.

She thinks she might actually be a little dizzy, now.

It’s just… a lot to take in.

No one says anything for a couple of seconds.

“Do you want to know what you look like?” Alice asks finally, a small smile playing its way onto her face.

Bella’s eyes widen fractionally. If it’s Alice’s intention to distract her, she succeeds marvelously. “Can we use mirrors?”

Everyone laughs at this, and some of the tension in the room evaporates. “What, you never noticed?” Emmett asks.

Bella feels like she would be blushing, if she could. (Another difference, another weird thing she’s noticed and now has to come to terms with. She can’t _blush_ anymore. Then again, maybe this particular quirk is more of a blessing in disguise. It might save her from a lot of future embarrassment.)

“Emmett, leave her alone.” Alice chastises with an eye roll. “ _Yes_ , Bella; we can use mirrors. You watch too many vampire movies.”

“No, I just…” Bella trails off once she realizes Alice is simply teasing her. She laughs, then, for the first time in this new body. It’s a loud sound, unexpected but not wholly startling. It rings on her ears, and in a way it’s not unlike _Alice’s_ laugh. It’s clear, and vibrant on the air; similar to the chiming of winter bells.

“So, do you want to?” Alice repeats, though she doesn’t give Bella time to answer.  “I have the best mirror in the house, so we can use my room.” She grabs Bella’s hand and starts walking towards the door. Bella’s feet move before her mind can catch up, and before she’s even aware of the fact that she should be scrambling after Alice her body has already slotted her next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Her body moved faster than her mind could follow. How curious.

“You coming, Edward?” Alice calls over her shoulder, and Bella feels more than hears him moving along behind them. On instinct, she reaches behind her and links their hands together, because it feels like the right thing to do. Edward squeezes her fingers tightly in his (at least, she _thinks_ it’s tightly; it’s so hard for her to tell, now, because his grip in hers barely feels like _anything_ ).

She has Alice in one hand and Edward in the other. There are a lot of things rolling through her mind at the moment. The way the air feels on her skin, dusty and warm tactile; full of particles. The way Edward and Alice’s skin feels against hers, alien and familiar all at once; not hard, not cold, but pliant and warm. Normal. Human, almost. (It’s not human; that’s not what she’s feeling. _They_ aren’t the ones who have changed, all of a sudden. She’s the one who’s shifted, who’s changed and adapted herself to match them. It’s an extremely odd feeling.)

____________________

Alice bounds up the stairs, practically dragging Edward and Bella along in her wake.

For the family left behind in the office, it’s relief they feel when the others disappear. Alice has been so different these past few days that it’s like a shock to their systems to see her prancing and smiling and joking around, acting like her old self rather than the shell of a person she’s become. It’s especially disquieting for Rosalie, who’s had to spend more time over the past few days comforting and consoling her sister than she ever anticipated (or, if she’s being honest, than she ever particularly _wanted_ ). It seems that now that Bella’s awake, now that Alice _knows_ she’s alright, that she’s alive and breathing and that she’s going to be safe, she’s returned to normal. It might be a relief to Carlisle, to Esme, to Jasper to see that her spirits have so quickly and positively returned, but Rosalie knows better.

It isn’t healthy, the behavior she sees in Alice. She knows that it isn’t. Ping-ponging back and forth between anger, malaise, distraught guilt, fury, joy, happiness, fear… never pausing, never letting one emotion settle, never allowing herself to truly _feel_ , to regulate the feelings within her either for better or for worse.

Her apparent happiness now does not do anything to settle the angry storm in Rosalie’s stomach. It only makes her more fearful for whatever the future may hold.

And that’s not the only thing that has her concerned. Rosalie isn’t sure if she’s the _only_ one who noticed the way the three left the room, but she thinks she must be, because if anyone else had noticed… if Carlisle or Esme had seen it for what it was…

They’re vampires. They’re _observant_. And she may be a hot head, she may be defensive and a little impulsive, but she isn’t _stupid._ She saw Bella’s reaction to Edward, plain as day; saw it side-by-side her reaction to Alice. She saw Bella lean in, a hair’s breadth away from claiming Alice’s lips in a kiss that would surely have ruined everything. She saw Alice push her away. She _saw_ all of that, watched in barely-repressed horror as it played out in front of her — as if she was watching her family structure crumble from the inside-out in slow-motion.

Rosalie has to thank the Lord for small miracles, because she’s pretty sure Edward hadn’t noticed the strange behavior. Based on his expression and body language it’s likely he overlooked it, either because he felt he had to (to protect himself) or because the joy of seeing Bella up and walking again dulled his senses more than expected. Then again, maybe he just didn’t _want_ to see. It’s fairly easy for a person to lie to themselves, to see only what they want to see, to hear only what they want to hear. Rosalie has some experience in this area, after all. She’s familiar with the ways you can deceive yourself to hide from painful truths.

Carlisle noticed. She can tell just by looking at him. Rosalie watches his face as he processes the information, the interaction, as he watches Alice pull Bella pull Edward from the room, a light frown marring his otherwise flawless skin.

Something’s happened. That’s obvious enough. Something’s happened, here; something bad, something that _shouldn’t_ have happened, something that was never _supposed_ to happen (but that they all saw coming, in a way, but were too stubborn to confront).

Bella left the room with Alice gripped in her one hand, Edward in the other, and herself firmly in the middle. Even if she doesn’t understand what’s happening yet, Rosalie does, and maybe so does Bella’s subconscious. Either that or the world has a cruel perception of irony.

Rosalie can see it coming like a specter rising in the distance, emerging from a swamp covered in fog and mud and hidden from view but looming larger, larger every day.

Bella is about to be pulled in two different directions, between two people she loves, but in different ways: between the man who used to hold her heart, and the woman who now does.

Nothing can break the bond between a vampire and their sire, and when Alice turned Bella, she did a lot more than make her immortal.

It’s reductive, pedantic almost to boil down the relationship between a vampire and their maker as simply being one of love and devotion; it’s much more complex than that. There is love, yes, but also desire; obsession; a need to protect, to save; a need to possess, to own, to consume; a draw between two impossibly strong magnetic forces, which pull so powerfully towards each other that they threaten to shatter anything that comes between them. It’s a force so immeasurable, so incomprehensible to those who haven’t felt it that it’s almost indescribable. It does not always come to fruition, this is true, but when it does…

Rosalie felt it for Emmett; Carlisle felt it for Esme. She’s not sure any of the others have felt it (Emmett, maybe, although Carlisle assures her that the forces acting upon _maker_ and _makee_ are markedly different, so she can’t be positive he’s ever felt the same kind of pull, the same kind of desire that she and her pseudo-father know intimately).

Maybe it’s a good thing none of the others know. It means they can’t understand, which means they can’t _help_ Alice if she comes to them searching for it, but more importantly it means they run no risk of accidentally giving away too much. And with a mind-reader in their midst, the fewer people who are aware of the situation, the better.

So if no one realizes it right now, if no one knows what’s happening, if no one can see the storm that’s brewing on the horizon besides Rosalie and her father then, well… it’s probably better that way.

____________________

Alice has one hand up and over Bella’s eyes, and though Bella can see each individual line on her friend’s fingers, she cannot see through them.

Alice’s voice is quiet in her ear, her breath hot as it runs over her skin. Bella feels something flit down her spine, like the ghost of an emotion she can no longer feel, but before she can figure out what it is, Alice is talking again. “Are you ready to see the new you?” she asks, and Bella bites her lip when she nods.

Alice pulls her hand away then, slowly and with much fanfare, and Bella blinks. Her eyes immediately zero in on the mirror in front of her and she clearly sees three people standing in the reflection. One is decidedly Edward, one decidedly Alice, and the other…. The other is a stranger to her. She frowns because she doesn’t understand, and when the stranger in front of her frowns as well, the realization that this person — this being in front of her _ is actual _her_ hits Bella with such a force that she stumbles back.

Alice catches her around the waist. “Are you okay?” she asks, but her voice still has a familiar teasing lilt to it, and Bella is struggling to find words to describe just how _not_ okay she really is.

“I don’t understand,” she says, and she watches the stranger’s mouth in the mirror move with hers. Her eyes lock with Alice’s, and the other girl is smiling at her with a soft understanding. “That’s… that’s _me._ But I look… I’m so—”

“Beautiful,” Edward says then, drawing up next to her. He slips a hand in hers and Alice immediately disentangles herself from Bella’s body, moving a few steps away. It’s only Edward’s reflection in the mirror now, standing next to… to the _woman-who-is-her,_ apparently. Bella blinks at her own reflection, still not quite able to believe it. “You look beautiful, love.” He presses a kiss to her temple and Bella sinks into the feeling, finding comfort in the press of his lips against her skin, in the feel of his hand in hers.

That’s… that’s _her._ That creature there, standing in front of her is… it’s…

Her skin is pale, paler than it’s ever been (she hadn’t thought that was possible), her hair silky black. Any scars or blemishes, any acne marks left over from her early teenage years… gone. All gone. Her shoulders are straight, and she looks taller — has she grown taller? Maybe that’s just the way she looks, standing here confident and regal in all her mystic, other-worldly majesty.

She can’t stop looking at her eyes — a deep red, almost crimson. The color of blood.

She looks foreign; alien.

She really _isn’t_ human at all anymore, is she?

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Listen,” Edward instructs. “What do you hear?”_
> 
> _**Everything,** she could say; his voice, his breath, the whisper of birds preening their feathers in the treetops, their fluttering heartbeats, the maple leaves scraping together, the faint clicking of ants following each other in a long line up the bark of the nearest tree. But she knows he means something specific, so instead she lets her ears range outward, seeking something different than the small hum of life that surrounds her. There’s an open space nearby — the wind has a different sound across the exposed grass — and a small creek, with a rocky bed. And there, near the noise of the water, is the splash of lapping tongues, the loud thudding of heavy hearts, pumping thick streams of blood…_
> 
> _It feels like the sides of her throat suck closed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the Bella/Edward content this week (there's more to come too, I'm afraid). But I need the set-up in order to facilitate the break-down. Trust me, we’re getting into the thick of it now.
> 
> The hunt section of this chapter borrows heavily from scenes in _Breaking Dawn. ___
> 
> __**TRIGGER WARNING:** graphic depictions of blood and blood drinking in this chapter._ _

____________________

Edward takes her out to hunt only a few short minutes later. When the hunger gets so strong she can’t ignore it any longer.

Alice doesn’t come with them. Bella tries to get her to join (she figures having more moral support can’t really hurt at the moment, and for some reason she’s feeling rather disinclined to leave Alice’s side) but Alice just shakes her head as she refuses, smiling a pained little smile. “It’ll be better with just the two of us anyway,” Edward mutters quietly as they make their way into the woods. “It’ll be easier that way.”

“Why easier?”

Edward shrugs. “I just think you might not want anyone else to see this. It can get… messy.” Bella doesn’t know quite what to say to that.

As Edward leads her off into the forest she turns to take a quick look over her shoulder, back in the direction of the Cullen house. She can just make out Alice’s small form, standing in an upper-floor window, watching them as they go. She thinks about calling out to her, or maybe waving, but instead she turns back around and lets Edward’s guiding hand on her lower back steer her in the right direction.

It had come on slowly, almost too slowly to notice, but she can feel it now — the raw, massive strength thrilling in her limbs. They pass by a nearby river and she’s suddenly sure that if she wanted to tunnel _under_ the river, to claw or beat her way straight through the bedrock, it wouldn’t take her very long at all. The objects around her — the trees, the shrubs, the rocks… the house — have all begun to look very fragile. Breakable. She feels like an immense being, a powerful force, unstoppable if she so desires. It’s a bizarre realization.

Once they’re deep enough in the trees, covered by thick foliage and densely-packed trunks, once the sounds of the freeway have faded and all Bella can smell is pine needles and rich soil and something sharp in the air, like the atmosphere before a storm, Edward turns to her with a grin. “Race you,” he teases, and before she can blink he’s gone.

A surprised laugh pulls itself from her throat and Bella immediately gives chase.

It’s… _exhilarating_ isn’t quite the right word — it doesn’t capture the sheer magnitude of this feeling, not properly — but it’s as close a word as she can conjure. It isn’t hard to follow Edward’s trail through the woods. He must be a hundred yards in front of her, yet she can smell him as strongly as if her nose was buried in his neck.

As she hurtles forward, she finally understands why Edward never hits the trees when he runs — a question that has always been a mystery to her. It’s a peculiar sensation, the balance between the speed and the clarity. For, while she rockets over, under, and through the thick jade maze at a rate that should reduce everything around her to a streaky green blur, she can still plainly see each tiny leaf on all the small branches of every insignificant shrub that she passes.

She keeps waiting to feel winded, but her breath comes effortlessly. She waits for the burn to begin in her muscles, but her strength only seems to increase as she grows accustomed to her stride. Her leaping bounds stretch longer, farther, stronger. She picks up her pace quickly, easily.

With every step, Edward’s smell gets stronger. She’s gaining on him, and quickly, and the realization brings a new shock of excitement and thrill. It only takes a few more moments for Edward’s shape to appear in the distance, nothing more than a blur. A few more moments and she’s nearly upon him. His arms pump furiously at his sides, straining to push himself just _that_ much faster as he hears her approaching. But it’s no use.

She tackles him a second later.

They go crashing to the ground in a sprawl of limbs, laughing as their bodies carve a deep divot into the soft soil of the forest floor. Edward rolls over under her, his eyes bright and shining with mirth. Bella grins down at him. She can’t help it.

“You’re slow,” she says to him, and that only makes him laugh harder.

“To you, maybe. I’m fastest in the family.”

“Second-fastest.”

His eyes soften, then. “Yeah,” he says quietly. Reverently. “Second-fastest.”

Lying still like they are, Bella becomes aware of their surroundings slowly. The wind blows lightly around them, and though she knows it shouldn’t, it feels warm against her skin. Just as the rough forest floor shouldn’t feel like velvet beneath her palms, her knees, and Edward’s hands on her shoulders shouldn’t feel like caressing feathers.

She pushes off his chest a little further. “What are we hunting?”

“Elk. I thought something easy for your first time…” He trails off when her eyes narrow at the word _easy._

But she isn’t about to argue; she’s too thirsty. As soon as she starts to think about the dry burn in her throat, it’s suddenly _all_ she can think about. And definitely getting worse. Her mouth feels like four o’clock on a June afternoon in Death Valley.

“Where?” Bella asks, scanning the trees impatiently. Now that she’s given the thirst her attention, it seems to taint every other thought in her head, leaking into the more pleasant thoughts of running and Edward’s lips and kissing and Al—scorching thirst. She can’t get away from it. Her mind is going hazy, and for the first time since waking up in her new form, she feels a little weak.

Edward seems to understand implicitly. He gently guides her off of him and they’re both standing. “Hold still for a minute,” he says, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders. The urgency of the thirst recedes at his touch, but only momentarily.

“Now close your eyes,” he murmurs. When she does as he says, he raises his hands to her face, stroking her cheekbones. Impatient to get something to eat, she wants to hurry him along, snap at him, tell him to stop with his games and get _on with it_ already, but she bites her tongue.

“Listen,” Edward instructs. “What do you hear?”

_Everything,_ she could say; his voice, his breath, the whisper of birds preening their feathers in the treetops, their fluttering heartbeats, the maple leaves scraping together, the faint clicking of ants following each other in a long line up the bark of the nearest tree. But she knows he means something specific, so instead she lets her ears range outward, seeking something different than the small hum of life that surrounds her. There’s an open space nearby — the wind has a different sound across the exposed grass — and a small creek, with a rocky bed. And there, near the noise of the water, is the splash of lapping tongues, the loud thudding of heavy hearts, pumping thick streams of blood…

It feels like the sides of her throat suck closed.

“By the creek, to the northeast?” she asks, eyes still shut.

“Yes.” His tone is approving. “Now… wait for the breeze again and… what do you smell?”

Mostly him — his strange honey-lilac-and-sun perfume. But also the rich, earthy smell of rot and moss, the resin in the evergreens, the warm, almost nutty aroma of the small rodents cowering beneath the tree roots. And then, reaching out again, the clean smell of the water, which is surprisingly unappealing despite her thirst. She focuses toward the water and finds the scent that must go with the lapping noise and the pounding heart. Another warm smell, rich and tangy, stronger than the others. And yet nearly as unappealing as the brook. She wrinkles her nose.

Edward chuckles. “I know — it takes some getting used to.”

“Three?” she guesses.

“Five. There are two more in the trees behind them.”

“What do I do now?”

His voice sounds like he’s smiling. Her eyes are still closed. “What do you feel like doing?”

And… what a question that is. How hard to answer.

Bella thinks about that, her eyes still shut as she listens and breathes in the scent. Another bout of baking thirst intrudes on her awareness, and suddenly the warm, tangy odor isn’t quite so objectionable. At least it would be something hot and wet, something satisfying in her desiccated mouth. Her eyes snap open.

“Don’t think about it,” Edward suggests, looking… she hesitates to say _excited,_ but it’s the closest word to the expression on his face. He takes a step back. “Don’t think about it. Just follow your instincts.”

She lets herself drift with the scent, then, barely aware of her movements, she ghosts down the incline to the narrow meadow where the stream flows. Her body shifts forward automatically into a low crouch as she hesitates at the fern-fringed edge of the trees. She can see a big buck, two dozen antler points crowning his head, at the stream’s edge, and the shadow-spotted shapes of the four others heading eastward into the forest at a leisurely pace.

Bella centers herself around the scent of the male, the hot spot in his shaggy neck where the warm pulses the strongest. Only thirty yards — two or three bounds — between them. She tenses herself for the first leap.

But as her muscles bunch in preparation, the wind shifts, blowing stronger now, and from the south. Just like that, her attention diverts completely. She doesn’t stop to think, hurtling out of the trees in a path perpendicular to her original plan, scaring the elk into the forest, racing after a new fragrance so attractive that there isn’t a choice. It’s compulsory.

This new scent rules completely. She’s single-minded in her pursuit of it, aware only of the thirst and the smell that promises to quench it. The thirst has gotten worse, so painful now that it confuses all her other thoughts and begins to reminder her of the burn of venom in her veins, the burn that she’s only just recently escaped.

There’s only one thing penetrating her focus now, her single-minded pursuit of a bigger, better, _tastier_ meal — an instinct more powerful, more basic than the need to quench the fire — the instinct to protect herself from danger. Self-preservation.

She’s aware of the fact that she’s being followed. The pull of the irresistible scent wars with the impulse to turn and defend her hunt. A bubble of sound builds in her chest; her lips pull back of their own accord to expose her teeth in warning. Her feet slow, the need to protect her back struggling against the desire to quench her thirst.

And then the sounds of her pursuer gaining, and the defense wins. She spins, the rising sound ripping its way up her throat and out.

The feral snarl, coming from her own mouth, is so unexpected that it brings Bella up short. It unsettles her, and it clears her head for a second — the thirst-driven haze recedes, though the thirst burns on.

The wind shifts again, blowing the smell of wet earth and coming rain across her face, further freeing her from the other scent’s fiery grip — what she only now realizes is a scent so delicious it can only be human.

Edward is frozen a few feet away, hesitating, his arms raised as if to embrace her — or maybe to restrain her. His face is intent and cautious and it keeps Bella in place, too stunned to move.

She’d been about to attack him. She’d been… she’d been moments away from lunging at him, straight for his throat—

Bella clenches her teeth tightly together. “I have to get away from here,” she spits through her teeth, using what little breath she has still in her lungs. She can’t risk another inhale.

Shock crosses Edward’s face. “ _Can_ you leave?”

There’s no time to ask him what he means by that. The ability to think clearly can last only as long as she can manage to stop herself from thinking of—

She bursts into a run again, a flat-out spring straight north, in the opposite direction of— concentrating solely on the uncomfortable feeling of sensory deprivation that seems to be her body’s only response to the lack of air. Her only goal is to run far enough away that the scent behind her would be completely lost. Impossible to find, even if she changes her mind…

Once again, she’s aware of being followed, but she’s sane this time. She fights against the instinct to breathe, and it isn’t until she’s miles and miles away that she finally deems it safe to stop.

She inhales fully, tasting the particles in the air, and — Edward, she can smell him behind her, and something else, something _big,_ not too far away. It doesn’t smell right (definitely not human), but it’s big and close and warm and pumping with blood.

The vegetation thins as she climbs higher, Edward hot on her heels — but she ignores him. The scent of pitch and resin grows more powerful the higher she goes; as does the trail she’s following. It’s a warm scent, sharper than the smell of the elk and more appealing. A few seconds more and she can hear the muted padding of immense feet, so much subtler than the crunch of hooves. The sound is up above her — in the branches rather than on the ground. Automatically she darts into the boughs as well, leaping into the air without even thinking in order to gain the strategic higher position, halfway up a towering silver fir.

The soft thud of paws continues stealthily beneath her now; the rich scent very close. In only a moment her eyes pinpoint the movement linked with the sound, and she can see the tawny hide of some great cat slinking along the wide branch of a spruce just down and to the left of her perch. He’s big — easily four times her mass. His eyes are intent on the ground beneath; the cat was hunting, too. She catches the scent of something smaller, bland next to the aroma of her prey, cowering in brush below the tree. The lion’s tail twitches spasmodically as he prepares to spring.

With a light bound, she sails through the air and lands on the lion’s branch. He feels the shiver of the wood and whirls, shrieking in surprise and defiance. He claws the space between them, his eyes bright with fury. Half-crazed with thirst, she ignores the exposed fangs and the hooked claws and launches herself at him, knocking both of them to the forest floor.

It’s not much of a fight.

His raking claws could be caressing fingers for all the impact they have on her skin. His teeth find no purchase against her shoulder or throat. His weight is nothing. Her teeth unerringly seek his throat, and his instinctive resistance is pitifully feeble against her strength. Her jaws lock easily over the precise point where the heat flow is concentrated.

It’s effortless as biting into butter. Her teeth are steel razors; they cut through the fur and fat and sinews like they aren’t even there.

The flavor is wrong, but the blood is hot and wet and it soothes the ragged, itching thirst as she drinks in an eager rush. The cat’s struggles grow more and more feeble, and his screams choke off with a gurgle. The warmth of the blood radiates through her whole body, heating even her fingertips and toes.

The lion is finished before Bella is. The thirst flares again when he runs dry, and Bella shoves his carcass off her body in disgust, dissatisfied and already scanning the woods with her nose and her eyes and her ears for another meal.

It’s only the sight of Edward, paused near the edge of the clearing, that pulls her back down. Now that her thirst has been abated if not satisfied, she can see the look in his eyes, the way his gaze rakes over her form. He looks… is that hunger from the smell of blood? Jealousy that she hadn’t shared her kill with him? Disgust for the obviously hideous display of primitive violence?

Bella looks down at her hands, dark red with blood that doesn’t belong to her, and feels her stomach roil. She gags first, then blanches and turns around. She dry-heaves into a nearby bush for what feels like minutes, Edward’s hand stroking a soft pattern along her back.

“That can happen, sometimes,” he says once she’s finally gotten over the worst of it. Nothing had come up, obviously — she’s fairly certain vampires can’t produce bile, therefore can’t throw up — but her eyes still burn, like they want to water but can’t form tears; her throat still aches, her stomach muscles cramping from the violence of their attempted-expulsion. She coughs and wipes at her lips.

“Your body craves the blood,” Edward explains while Bella spits to try and clear the taste from her mouth, “but you don’t crave the taste. Not yet. You still… the memories are still too strong, too visceral. It can take a while to forget, to break the tie between human and vampire.” He smiles at her kindly. “You’ll get used to it.”

If he’d intended that to be a comforting thought, she has to say that he’s failed quite miserably.

____________________

“How did you do it?” he asks her later, much later, after they’ve taken down a combined three elk and one moose, rounding out their meal. Apparently part of being a newborn vampire means an increased, voracious appetite, so Bella had done most of the consuming. She’d washed the blood from her hands and mouth in a nearby river, but it hadn’t been quite enough to get rid of the smell. Her clothes were beyond saving, at this point, and she was practically itching to get out of them — the lingering smell of blood and dark stains making her throat tickle, even though she’s already well-sated. It’s like the thirst is unquenchable. She’d need to go hunting again within the next couple days for sure.

“How did I do what?”

“How did you run away like that? When… the hiker.”

Bella shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says, not quite knowing how to answer that. “I held my breath.”

“But how did you stop _hunting_? God,” he shakes his head, not waiting for her answer, “I can’t believe I was so _stupid_! It was horribly careless of me. I assumed no one would be so far from the trails… I should have checked first. I’m so sorry, Bella.”

“What else could I do?” she asks instead of reassuring. His attitude is confusing—why is he so surprised she was able to control herself? What was this new wave of guilt all about? What did he _want_ to have happened? “I just thought… well, it might have been someone I know.”

He startles her then, suddenly bursting into a spasm of laughter, throwing his head back and letting the sound echo off the trees.

Bella huffs, feeling put-out. “Why are you laughing at me?”

Edward shakes his head as he gets his laughter, slowly, back under control. “I’m not laughing at you, Bella. I’m laughing because I’m in shock. And I’m in shock because I’m _completely_ amazed.”

“ _Why_?”

“You shouldn’t be able to do any of this. You shouldn’t be so… so _rational_. You shouldn’t be able to stand here discussing this with me calmly and coolly. And, much more than any of that, you should _not_ have been able to break off mid-hunt with the scent of human blood in the air. Even mature vampires have difficulty with that—we’re always very careful of where we hunt so as not to put ourselves in the path of temptation. Bella, you’re behaving like you’re decades rather than days old.”

“Oh.” But she’d known it wasn’t going to be easy. And, yes, she hadn’t exactly been able to _prepare_ herself for it — it’s not like this was a test she could have studied for — but she _had_ still known how difficult it was going to be. That’s why she was so on guard during the hunt. It’s why she’s so on guard now.

Edward puts his hands on her face again, pulling her to a stop, and his eyes are full of wonder as they stare into hers. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to see into your mind for just this one moment,” he murmurs softly, studying her closely.

Bella’s fingers twitch at that. She feels the urge to pull away, but stays close.

She’s happy he can’t read her mind — she’s always been happy about it, but she’s never been more thankful than she is in this moment. There’s something unsettling, something invasive, perhaps even _paternalistic_ about his desire to read her mind. Like he wants this extra insight into her, into her way of thinking and acting and reacting, like he wants to study her, to pick her apart. Like he wants to know her, intimately, without taking the time to ask. Like he wants her thoughts more than he wants her. Like she’s some mystery, some box for him to unpack, some puzzle for him to solve; like if he just gets the pieces in the right order her mind will crack open, his for the pillaging.

It’s a powerful string of emotions, and it comes so quickly and rapidly and unexpectedly into her brain that Bella is almost sent reeling. She’d known about the thirst aspect of vampirism; had come to expect it, to anticipate it, even. But she’d been wholly unprepared for _this._ She’d been so sure it would feel the same when Edward touched her. But now, with his hands on her face, his body so close to hers…

It isn’t. It’s… it isn’t better, isn’t worse. It’s just… _different._ Stronger, in some ways. Unexpected.

She isn’t sure if she likes it or not.

She reaches up to trace the planes of his face; her fingers linger on his lips.

After a few moments she pulls away, and they make their way silently and slowly once in the direction of the Cullen house.

____________________

It’s nearly nightfall by the time they get back. In her mad, dizzying, uncontrolled dash through the woods, Bella had managed to make it nearly to the Canadian border. Even at the moderate clip they set, it still takes them quite a while. They have a long stretch of woods to pick their way through before the smells of _home_ start to reach them for real.

The Cullen house is lit brightly in the waning daylight. The windows glow with a faint, inviting orange light, casting long shadows out all the way to the tree line. With her eyesight as good as it is now, Bella can see the light residue from several miles out. It only makes her quicken her steps to get there.

When they finally push open the doors and step inside, most of the family is in the living room, ostensibly busying themselves with small tasks but Bella knows really they’re waiting for them.

Emmett is the first to speak, calling from his spot sprawled on the couch, “How did the hunt go? Smells like you got something good.”

Edward grins, proud, and throws an arm over Bella’s shoulders. It’s the first time they’ve touched in hours. She wants to shrink away from the contact, still conscious of the way she stinks slightly of _animal_ and _death,_ conscious of the way her clothes look, the way they stick to her body, congealed with mud and blood and filth, but she holds still. This isn’t something to feel proud of — it’s _definitely_ not something _she_ feels proud of. “Bella took down a mountain lion,” Edward brags, “all on her own.”

Emmett, at least, looks duly impressed. “You’re kidding. Your first kill?” Bella nods a soft confirmation. Emmett whistles, low and long. “Knew you were something special, kid! Glad you proved me right.”

Edward is still beaming proudly next to her. Bella manages a smile, but that’s about it.

“So what are you two going to do with the rest of your night?” Carlisle asks from the kitchen.

“You’ll want some alone time, yeah?” Emmett wiggles his eyebrows at them, teasing. “Rose and I disappeared for nearly a month, after my transformation. We broke a few houses, too.”

If Bella were capable of blushing, she would be a furious shade of crimson right about now. “I don’t…” a quick glance in Edward’s direction shows that he looks completely unruffled— “I don’t think that we need that. Um… yet.”

“Aw, c’mon Bells. Don’t leave a guy hanging.” Emmett’s laugh is booming. “He’s been waiting a hundred years for this!”

There’s a noise from somewhere off to the right. Like a person softly clearing their throat. Bella shifts where she stands.

Rosalie glares at her husband. “Stop teasing her and leave them be. It’s been a long few days. I’m sure Bella just wants to rest.”

It’s not often in her life that Bella finds herself _grateful_ for Rosalie, but at the moment she breathes a sigh of relief and feels an intense wave of gratitude wash over her.

Tired. Yes. That’s one way of putting it. Maybe not how she would have put it, but not exactly inaccurate. She’s frankly exhausted, over-stimulated. So many things have happened these past few days, so many new experiences and smells and sounds and needs. She’s undergone a complete transformation in the span of a long weekend. All she really wants to do is just lie down and go to sleep…

But of course she can’t sleep. Not anymore. What a luxury she’s going to miss. What a strange, normal, everyday occurrence that she will no longer get to experience. What else will she never get to experience? Basking in the sun in the middle of a public park? Crowded days at the beach? Having children…

Her stomach lurches and she feels a little faint. She hadn’t even considered… she’s never spent much time thinking about the prospects of children, of childbearing, of raising a family… but now that she knows she’ll _never_ be able to…

“Yeah,” she croaks at last. It’s only been a few seconds since their conversation lagged, but it feels like a lifetime has passed. “I’m tired. I think I just want to go to bed.”

Emmett waggles his eyebrows at her once more, but Bella is pretty much walking blind as she stumbles up the stairs into Edward’s room. She collapses on the bed, her face buried in his pillow, and she doesn’t cry — she can’t, of course — but she thinks she would be crying, if she were able. If the situation were any different.

 

 

She’s not sure how long she lays there, impassive and unmoving, unfeeling and unthinking. It feels like a long time. Then again, her perceptions of time are all screwed up now, so really it’s hard to say. Edward keeps a silent vigil on the bed next to her; not touching her, just lying there.

Eventually she pushes off the mattress. When Edward moves, as if to follow her, she calls over her shoulder, “I’m going to shower,” and slams the bathroom door shut behind her. She winces at the sound. She hadn’t meant to close it that hard; she’s still trying to get a handle on her strength.

She strips her clothing from her body mechanically. She kicks the garments into a corner of the bathroom. It’s white, and so clean it could be sterile. It smells like nothing, even to her hyper-sensitive nose. She imagines it would feel quite cold to her, were she still human. She might shiver, and hurry to get under the warm spray to stop herself from freezing.

She steps into the shower long before the water goes hot. It doesn’t matter to her — she can easily tell the difference, but the cold bothers her as much as the heat soothes her (which is to say, it does nothing at all).

She takes her time under the water. Much longer than she needs to clean herself. She’s going to have to get used to life without a few key human creature comforts (sleeping, eating burgers, sore muscles, sunbathing on public beaches) but she’ll be damned if she has to lose her long showers, too.

She emerges into the bedroom a while later, toweling her hair dry. Edward hasn’t moved from his spot on the bed, but he’s found a book. His eyes are skimming quickly, flipping pages almost mindlessly. But she knows he’s reading properly because his mouth is moving impossibly fast as the words fly soundlessly over his tongue.

He notices her after a second and immediately drops the book to his chest. “Good shower?”

She nods. “I needed it.”

Bella flops down onto bed next to him. She turns to face him, but he keeps looking out to the bathroom, his eyes far away and out-of-focus. Bella sighs and turns to lie flat on her back, eyes skyward.

“I’m sorry about Emmett,” Edward says once her face is pointed towards the ceiling again. “He can be… immature.”

“That’s okay.”

“Still.” He rolls over to face her, his head pillowed on his arm. He smiles at her, and it’s so soft, so quiet, that she feels something in her chest tug, and without thinking about it she rolls onto her side and moves closer to him, too. “You were wonderful today.”

She frowns at that. Her behavior could be called a lot of things, but she’s not sure she ever would have settled on ‘wonderful’.

Edward seems to understand the expression on her face, because he’s quick to correct. “I just mean you handled yourself well. Much better than most newborns.”

It’s hardly a thing to _compliment,_ she thinks — the fact that she didn’t murder anyone isn’t an achievement so much as it is the bare _minimum_ of what she needs to achieve day-to-day, but she manages a small, “Thanks,” anyway.

Edward hums, the sound like a low purr in his chest. Her eyes flutter shut before she’s consciously aware of the fact that Edward is moving towards her, his eyes set with determination, but she isn’t surprised when his lips find hers a second later.

She’d brushed her teeth in the bathroom, too, something she’s grateful for. She wouldn’t want Edward to kiss her with her mouth tasting of blood.

He hadn’t brushed his teeth, though, so when his tongue brushes against hers, the lightest of touches, she can taste it again. Faint as anything, but still there: blood.

Bella pulls back, a hand on his chest. Edward blinks at her. “I’m… do you think it would be alright if we… didn’t do that, tonight?” She clears her throat. “I mean… your whole family is right here, and they can hear us, and… and I don’t know if I’m ready, yet.” It’s a small admission, quiet, and it surprises her when she says it because she hadn’t been aware that it was something she’d been feeling. But once the words are out, she feels a sense of relief — like she’s been holding a secret for an incredibly long time and has only just summoned the courage to reveal it.

Edward is instantly understanding. “Of course,” he says, pulling away from her with a light smile. She studies his face nervously, afraid that he might be angry with her, or upset that she’s stopped their physical relationship from progressing further. Emmett’s right, after all — Edward’s been alone for more than a century. He must be practically thrumming with anxious, sexually-frustrated energy. (Can vampires get sexually frustrated? Can they get sexually aroused without a beating heart? She’s never thought to ask.) With no more threat to her safety, there’s nothing holding them back, anymore. And they’d been inches from tearing each other’s clothes off back when she’d been human, when it’d all been more _forbidden_ and _dangerous._

“Is that… okay?” she hesitates to ask.

Edward nods, unbothered. “I have a paper I need to write for English anyway.”

Bella pulls a face. “You still need to write _papers_? Wait, do _I_ still need to write papers?”

Edward chuckles. “I still have to graduate, Bella. And, as for you…” his mouth goes tight near the corners— “well, no, actually. Technically you’re… a missing person. So.”

“Oh.” Of course. She’d almost forgotten. “Can I… I mean… how’s my dad?”

“I haven’t talked to him.”

“But you must know _something_ ,” her voice is soft. Almost pleading. “Edward. _Please_.”

Edward chews on his lip. “Carlisle went to see him today,” he finally admits. “And I have to go down to the station tomorrow to give my statement.”

“What? _Why?”_

“Well, because I’m the boyfriend. I’m something of a person of interest in your case.”

“But… can I…” Bella blinks. “I can call my dad, I can go see him, I can explain—”

“You can’t go see him,” Edward shakes his head, voice firm. “That’s out of the question.”

Bella’s nostrils flare. “And _why,_ exactly, can I not go see my own father?”

“It isn’t safe, Bella.”

“I’ll be _fine—_ ”

“Not safe for _him,_ I mean.” Bella stops arguing. Edward sighs. “You saw what happened today, with the hiker…”

“I didn’t… I didn’t hurt anyone. I _stopped_ myself.”

“You almost didn’t. I don’t want to think about what might happen if you were left in a confined space with him.”

“I wouldn’t… I would never _hurt_ him.”

“You can’t know that, Bella. Realistically, you can’t know that.”

She swallows. Her head hurts. “Okay…” She rubs at her temple. “Okay. So I can’t go see him. But I can still call him, right? Tell him… tell him I’m safe, and to stop worrying about me. That I’ll be back eventually.”

“I doubt that will make him stop looking.”

“Okay, but I can _try,_ can’t I? I need… I can’t even imagine what he’s been going through. Him and my mom both. They should know I’m okay. That I’m alive, at the very least.”

“Alright,” Edward finally acquiesces. “Alright. You can call them tomorrow. They’ll be asleep now; best not to wake them up and worry them any more than we have to.”

“Thank you.” She would have called them either way, of course, with or without his permission. But it’s a relief to know that he agrees with her, if nothing else.

With one more kiss to the crown of her head, Edward disappears from the room, leaving Bella to her own devices.

She has an entire lifetime (several lifetimes, really) of sleepless nights ahead of her. How is she going to spend her first?

She spends so long lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling and contemplating what to do with the abundance of free time she now finds herself with, that before she knows it’s morning, and she hasn’t done anything with her time at all.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Edward had been right, of course. She’s loathe to admit it, but she has to grudgingly acknowledge, with her throat tight and her lungs unwilling to inflate all the way, that he had been right. Her phone call had done little to assuage Charlie’s worry — if anything, it’s only served to exacerbate his concern._
> 
> _But at least now he knows she’s **alive,** if nothing else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much plot recently wow I hadn’t even noticed…
> 
> So sorry about all the late updates. I’m going to try to finish up this story within the next couple months?? Hopefully??
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, folks. Your patience is appreciated.

____________________

The first time she tries to call Charlie it doesn’t work out so well. He picks up the phone, his voice muttering a gruff _“Hello?”_ (it’s still pretty early, and he sounds like he hasn’t slept in ages), and before he’s even finished his compulsory telephone greeting Bella hears a loud and definitely _not_ natural _CRUNCH._ She glances down and sees the remnants of one of the Cullens’ shattered phones clutched between her fingers.

She winces, and holds the mess of plastic and wires out towards Carlisle wordlessly. She hopes she looks appropriately apologetic, and not just severely gassy.

To his credit, Carlisle takes the phone back without much more than a smile. “Happens rather often,” he reassures, passing her a new phone from the drawer behind him. “Don’t worry.” He backs out of the room a moment later and Bella inhales deeply, steadying herself.

She dials again.

_“Look, joker, I don’t know who you think you’re calling, but if you keep up with this I’ll have the entire police force of Forks—”_

“Dad!” Bella interjects, “It’s me.”

A long pause on the other end of the line. _“…Bella?”_

“Yeah,” her voice feels shaky, her fingers are trembling. She’s worried if she’s not careful she’s going to break another phone. She keeps the device held loosely between two fingers (her pointer and thumb) and tries not to breathe, and hopes it will be enough to keep her steady. “Yeah, it’s me, Dad.”

 _“W—”_ he sounds like he isn’t breathing, either— _“where are you? Are you okay? I’m coming to get you.”_

“No, Dad, I’m… I’m fine. I promise. I’m safe.”

 _“Tell me where you are, Isabella. **Right now**.” _ It’s never a good thing when he calls her ‘Isabella’.

Bella shakes her head, though she knows he can’t see it. “No, I’m not… I’m not coming home. Not yet. I just wanted you to know that I was safe, that I’m safe and taking care of myself. I’ll be okay.”

 _“This has something to do with that Cullen boy, doesn’t it?”_ Apparently, Charlie isn’t in the listening mood. _“Bella, he’s a **kid**. **You’re** a kid. Whatever the two of you think you’re doing with this runaway charade, it—”_

“This isn’t about Edward,” she says, truthfully. She’s never been good at lying to her father. He’s too good at sensing deceit, especially _her_ deceit. She’s never been good at lying to him. He always sees right through her.

It’s a dangerous line she’s toeing, right now. One wrong word and the entire Forks police department will be at the Cullen house in 10 minutes flat. She has to watch her words, lest she say something to tip him off. “This isn’t about Edward,” she says again, her voice a little firmer now. “He’s not here with me. I’m… I’m going through this on my own.”

 _“Bella,”_ he sounds desperate, now, _“ **please**. You **have** to tell me where you are, Sweetie. I can’t… **please** tell me where you are.”_

She swallows thickly. Her eyes burn. She’s sort of glad, in this moment, that she can’t cry. “I can’t—” she says, her own voice tight and creaky— “I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t tell you. You’ll try to come get me and I can’t… I’m in Oregon.” It’s a lie. She knows he can hear it. She knows he won’t accept it. So she switches tactics. “I’m not too far from home, I just… I needed some time. I’ve been going through something the past few weeks and I just… I needed some time by myself. To figure things out.”

_“Who are you with? Where are you staying?”_

“Dad—”

_“I’m not dropping this until you give me some answers, Isabella. Tell me truthfully: does Cullen have anything to do with this?”_

“I have to go, Dad.”

_“No, Bella—”_

“I’m sorry.” Her knees are shaking rather badly. “I’m sorry. I love you, Dad. I’ll see you soon.”

_“Bella!”_

She hangs up on him with something like finality.

Edward had been right, of course. She’s loathe to admit it, but she has to grudgingly acknowledge, with her throat tight and her lungs unwilling to inflate all the way, that he had been right. Her phone call had done little to assuage Charlie’s worry — if anything, it’s only served to exacerbate his concern.

But at least now he knows she’s _alive_ , if nothing else.

If that’s even what she is, anymore.

When Edward slips by her nearly an hour later, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, all she can do is grimace at him. “Be careful, okay?” She says to him. “He might try to take a swing at you.”

They both know who she’s talking about without having to say it. “I won’t get hurt,” Edward promises with a sweet smile.

“You getting hurt isn’t really what I’m worried about.”

Edward’s smile is placating, but also maybe a little annoying? He’s smiling at her like Charlie used to when she did something particularly exasperating when she was younger, that look that tries to say something like: _Oh look at her, isn’t she so adorably precious and clueless?_ “I won’t let anything happen to your father.”

And she knows that. She _knows_ that.

She’s still allowed to be worried, isn’t she?

____________________

The police officer sitting behind the front desk glares at him coldly as soon as he walks through the door. Edward smiles, going for charming, but realizes a moment too late that he’s miscalculated. The officer’s expression only darkens, a sneer of distaste overtaking his lips.

Right. Missing girlfriend. Smiling is… a bad look.

He clears his throat and tries again. “Er… I’m looking for Captain Swan?”

“Interrogation room two,” the man answers gruffly. He keeps his hand resting on the firearm he has strapped to his hip. It probably would have been intimidating, were he trying to intimidate anyone else. Someone who wasn’t essentially bulletproof.

Esme puts her hand on Edward’s shoulder, which effectively stops him from saying anything further. A quick glance and Edward sees her shake her head infinitesimally.

Esme leads them through the station, slipping her way through the hallways like she works there, like she’s been there countless times (though Edward knows it’s highly unlikely she’s ever set foot in the building). Her spine is straight — it never wavers — and her posture completely at-ease, unbothered. Edward longs to someday have that kind of confidence, that kind of poise and assurance. Her steps are even, and she approaches the door labeled _Interrogation Room 2_ without breaking her stride. She knocks softly, three times in quick succession.

“Come in,” a gruff voice calls. Esme leads the way inside.

The room is dark, and grey, and pretty much every cliché of a police station interrogation room you could think of. The temperature is turned up just a few degrees too high to be strictly comfortable. There are only three chairs in the room — one that Charlie Swan is occupying, one directly across from him, and one tucked off and forgotten in some far-off back corner. It’s windowless, which was to be expected; interrogation isn’t meant to be a _comfortable_ experience. The overhead fluorescent lights are harsh and flicker every few moments in a way that can only really be described as seizure-inducing. The furniture is cold, stainless steel, the opposite of cozy. There’s a one-way mirror directly behind Charlie’s back that Edward, with his enhanced vision, has no trouble seeing through. There isn’t anyone on the other side, though. No one around to witness the spectacle that’s about to unfold.

Charlie probably planned it that way. That wouldn’t exactly surprise Edward to learn.

 _Yeah, sit down you smug, smarmy bastard,_ Charlie thinks. Edward can hear him, plain as day, but doesn’t react to any of it. He’s become very practiced at this — eavesdropping while making it seem like he’s oblivious. It’s a natural talent of his, now.

Charlie keeps his arms folded over his chest, his face impassive. _Hope you like sticky tables and wobbly chairs,_ his thoughts broadcast, pettily.

Edward makes a point of acknowledging neither the sticky table nor the unsteady chair. He sits in it gingerly, his weight purposefully and perfectly balanced.

It’s only then that Charlie seems to notice, seemingly for the first time, that they aren’t alone in the room. “You brought your mother.” It isn’t a question, but Esme places a hand on Edward’s shoulder and answers any way.

“He’s under eighteen. You can’t question him without a legal guardian present.”

Charlie’s nostrils flare. It’s the only indication that her answer has annoyed him. “He isn’t being charged with anything,” he says by way of a response.

Esme’s eyes are cold when she answers. Edward thinks he can almost detect a shiver go down Charlie Swan’s spine at the glare she levels him with. “My husband respects you, Captain Swan,” Esme says, reaching behind her without looking and grabbing a hold of the last chair in the room. She drags it up and sets it firmly down next to Edward’s— “and all the fine work you do for this community. But I know my son’s rights. We don’t want there to be any… _misunderstandings_ coming out of today.” She takes a heavy seat, leaning forward in her chair so her elbows brush against the table. Her teeth seem to glint under the light. “I’m sure you’d agree.”

Charlie clenches his teeth so tightly Edward can hear them creak inside his mouth. “Of course,” he acquiesces, looking far less than pleased. Edward bites his tongue to keep from smiling. Charlie turns his attention away from Esme, then, his eyes narrowing at Edward.

The situation seems a lot less funny, all of a sudden.

“You know why you’re here, son?” Charlie asks him bluntly.

It would be foolish to lie. So Edward nods. “I heard Bella’s missing. You want my help finding her?”

“I want to know if you know anything about her disappearance. Where she went, why she left… that sort of thing.”

Edward very consciously does not break eye contact and lies through his teeth. He frowns, hopes it doesn’t look exaggerated. “I don’t know anything about that. How would I?”

 _Liar._ The word cuts through Edward’s mind, loud and clear in the quiet of the room. He swallows, small and invisible.

Charlie shrugs, clearly not buying it. “You’re her boyfriend. Girls usually tell their boyfriends when they’re leaving town.”

“She told me she didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” Edward shifts in his seat, averts his eyes down. Even just _talking_ about a hypothetical breakup with Bella is painful for him to do. And he needs to look the part if he’s going to sell his innocence in all of this. He can’t forget that that’s why he’s here — divert Charlie’s attention away from the Cullens, away from where Bella’s been hiding, back towards where it’s safe… “We had a fight. I thought she must still be mad at me.”

“You didn’t hear from her for days. Weren’t you concerned? Why didn’t you try to call her? I have her phone records here—”

“Did you get a warrant for those?” Esme cuts him off, sitting forward in her chair, her own eyes narrowed now.

Now it’s Charlie’s eyes that seem to flash under the fluorescent lighting. “I don’t need a warrant for my own daughter’s phone records. Not when I’m the one paying the bills.”

Edward keeps looking at Charlie, forcing his body language to appear unconcerned. Only guilty people got nervous around incriminating evidence. Right?

“You haven’t called her once in the past six days.” Charlie pushes the phone records towards him on the table. Edward peers down at them, looking curious but nothing more. “Don’t you think that’s a little odd? _I_ think that’s a little odd. I mean, if _my_ girlfriend suddenly didn’t talk to me for six days, I’d be a little concerned. I’d probably try to call her, text her, send her an email… check in with her father, report her missing, go to the police, if she hasn’t turned up in a few days… You know, normal boyfriend things.”

The smugness radiating off of Charlie is nearly strong enough to choke on. He really thinks he has Edward on the ropes, here.

It’s always fun proving authority figures wrong.

Edward just shakes his head down towards the phone records. “I was trying to give her space. She asked me for time, I wanted to give it to her.”

When he finally glances up again, he sees that Charlie’s expression is murderous. Blood pulses up, thick and pounding, through the vein on his forehead. His face has turned progressively redder over the course of their conversation. He’s furious, but with no evidence to go on (and with Edward still _technically_ being a minor), there isn’t much else he can do.

 _Lying sack of shit,_ Charlie thinks, his words thunderous. _I know you’re hiding something._

“Believe me, Captain Swan,” Esme interjects again, forcing Charlie’s glare to migrate from her son onto her, “we want to do everything we can to help find Bella. It’s just terrible, what’s happened. We all love Bella, our whole family, like she’s one of our own. These past few days must have been so hard for you, we can only imagine. You must be worried sick.”

 _Don’t tell me how I feel,_ he thinks. “It’s been a stressful few days, yes,” he says.

“You really haven’t heard from her at all the entire week? Does she have a phone you can track, or—”

“I would appreciate it if you left the police work to the police, Mrs. Cullen.” Esme looks completely unruffled by the obvious dismissal. Edward is once again in awe of her composure. “And, not that it’s any of your business, but Bella called me this morning.”

“Really?” Esme’s eyes brighten, and she sits up straighter.

Edward does his best to copy the expression. “What did she say?” He asks quickly. “Is she alright?”

“Do you know where she is?” Esme asks too, the two of them talking over each other.

Charlie growls, low in the back of his throat, imperceptible to human ears. _What are the two of you hiding?_ he thinks, eyes scanning their faces for deceit. “She said she was alright. That she needed some time away and would be home soon.”

“But that’s… that’s good, yes?” Esme says, frowning in confusion. She really is an excellent actress. “She’s alright. And, if I’m not mistaken, this no longer makes her a missing person, but a runaway. So why did you insist my son come down to this interview, if you know he has nothing to do with Bella running away?”

“You don’t think it’s a _little_ suspicious that the first time anyone hears from Bella in almost a week, it’s the day I’m going to interview her boyfriend about her disappearance? That doesn’t seem like a strange coincidence to you?”

“It seems like a coincidence,” Esme answers with assurance. “Last I checked, coincidences don’t close cases. Now, are we done here?”

Charlie’s nostrils flare again. Esme moves to push her chair back, but Charlie’s hands on the table stop her movement. “Not quite,” he growls. “Take a seat, Mrs. Cullen. I have just a few more questions for your son.”

____________________

Carlisle is mumbling into his cellphone. His voice is low and it sounds urgent. It’s not exactly putting Bella at ease.

Edward and Esme went down to the station almost two hours ago. The fact that they aren’t back yet can’t mean anything good. And if the way Carlisle is hissing heated words into the phone is any indication, it definitely _isn’t_ good.

“Bella,” he calls when he finally hangs up, gesturing for her to come to him. She does so on unsteady legs. It feels like it takes an eternity for her to arrive in front of him, but it can’t be more than a second. Carlisle is looking down at her seriously, his brow furrowed and his lips forming a tight, a concerned line. “Your father is on his way.”

Her stomach lurches. She swallows thickly. “Okay. Is that bad?”

“He still thinks you’re on the run. He can’t find you here.”

“So then why is he coming? If Edward didn’t tell him—”

“He thinks Edward had something to do with your disappearance. He’s bringing a few police cars to search the premises. You need to be gone by the time he gets here. There will be half a dozen police officers crawling through the place in ten minutes. Alice,” he calls next, and Alice is at their sides in a moment.

“Yes, Carlisle?”

“Take Bella away from here, please. Down wind. As far as you can manage. I’ll tell them you’re out, but if they want to talk to you I’ll call. Be far enough away that she can’t smell them, but close enough you can be back in ten minutes at most. Got that?”

“Yes, Carlisle. I understand.”

“Good.” He turns his attention back to Bella (who, for the record, has not really appreciated being spoken _about_ rather than _to_ ). “It’ll be alright, Bella.”

She knows that. Of _course_ it’s all going to be alright. It _has_ to be. There’s no other acceptable option. “Will you…” she blinks a few times, looking for words that won’t sound either too childish or too sentimental or too specific as to draw suspicion if repeated to her father— “will you make sure he’s okay? Make sure he’s eating? I’m worried about him. And I can’t… do you know when I’ll be able to see him?”

Carlisle shakes his head. “It’s too soon to say. But we can discuss this later. Please, you have to go. They’ll be here soon.”

“But—”

“Please, Bella.”

“Come on, Bells,” Alice cuts in quietly, her tone soft yet insistent. “Let’s get out of here.” Bella allows Alice to take her hand and drag her off into the woods.

____________________

Bella’s feet make next to no sound on the rough floors of the cabin Alice leads her to. Alice pushes the door open with a little flourish, and Bella picks her way through the space carefully, conscious of the fact that it looks practically unused. There’s a kitchen directly ahead of the front door, a small room with modern fixtures but very little cabinet space. The walls are the same fair brown color as the floor — a color of wood so faint it almost appears white. There’s a furnace in the middle of the main sitting room, one of those old-fashioned, wrought-iron contraptions that’s meant to heat the whole house (not that the temperature really matters to vampires). There are a few fake plants perched on the windowsills, only enough to make the space look somewhat-alive; like maybe real people might live here. There’s a thin layer of dust covering the kitchen island, the stove, the top of the refrigerator, the lone couch in the center of the first floor. Despite the dust, despite the fact that the fire remains unlit, Bella can’t help but feel like the cabin is _cozy_ nonetheless. She can picture herself here (in another lifetime, a lifetime ago), with her feet tucked under her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she reads by the light of the fire. The warmth of the image settles until she feels it spreading, from the center of her chest down to her fingertips. She flexes them for a moment and the feeling fades not long after.

“What is this place?” she asks, her fingertips brushing against a coffeepot that still gleams in the late-morning light, insinuating towards its status as an untouched piece of furnishing.

Alice, by contrast, looks completely at home in the space. She kicks off her shoes near the door and flops onto the room’s only couch with an exhausted sigh, wiggling her toes in her socks for a few seconds before she finally answers. “An old cabin Carlisle and Esme found a few years back,” she says. “They fixed it up, furnished it. Now it’s… here, for if anyone needs it.” Alice toes at the carpet carefully. “The only people who use it any more are Rosalie and Emmett, really.”

Bella scrunches up her nose. “Gross. This is their sex house?”

Alice laughs. Her toes seem to sink through the carpet and all the way to the hardwood floors underneath. Bella thinks of bare feet clomping through mud in the middle of a storm, the way the wet dirt sneaks up between toes like some cold, living thing. Uncanny in its unfamiliarity. “Sometimes,” Alice answers easily. At the look on Bella’s face, she has to chuckle again. “Don’t worry, they clean it thoroughly when they finish. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Still.” Bella sinks down onto the couch next to her. It really has no business being this comfortable, considering no one in the family regularly uses this space, and none of them could have really gotten any pleasure from the plush fabric even if they _did_ have a reason to frequent this particular couch. Creature comforts seem to be a luxury lost on vampires. The Cullens, at least, seem to only be in possession of most of their material goods because they can’t find any other legitimate way to spend their (several-lifetimes’-worth-of) wages. “Could have gone my whole life without needing to know _that_.”

“If _I_ have to know it, you do, too. I can’t be alone in my misery.” When Bella doesn’t answer with anything more concrete than a soft chuckle, Alice knocks their elbows together. “How are you, by the way? Doing alright?”

Bella sighs then, maybe just to buy herself some time to think of an appropriate answer. She toes her shoes off, kicking them away from her where they land with a soft _thud_ near the doorway. It’s then that she understands why this particular carpet so intrigued Alice’s socked feet — it’s exceedingly plush, warm and comfortable and luxurious. It feels incredible on her hyper-sensitive skin.

It takes her half a moment to remember Alice’s question. “I just can’t stop thinking about him,” she finally says, having drunk her fill of all the enjoyment she’s probably going to get from feeling a soft carpet with her toes. “Charlie, I mean,” she’s quick to clarify. “If he’s sleeping or eating or drinking too much again. I just can’t help but think… maybe if I just _saw_ him…”

Alice puts her hand lightly on Bella’s where they’re crossed in her lap. “Worrying about it isn’t going to make you feel any better,” she reminds. “Carlisle will check in on him. Make sure he’s doing okay. And you’ll be able to talk to him in-person soon; I’m sure of it.”

Bella sighs again. “I guess. I just don’t like the waiting.”

Alice turns herself, bringing her legs up until she has her knees tucked under her. She braces her hands against the tops of her thighs and leans forward. “Then we better take your mind off the waiting. C’mon,” she nudges Bella with her knee, “you haven’t told me how the hunt went. I wanna hear all about it.”

“Oh, well… you were in the living room yesterday. You already heard—”

“I don’t mean what you _killed_ or how _big_ it was.” Alice rolls her eyes. “That’s boy stuff. How did it _feel_? I mean…” And then, with a little less bravado, “Are you… are you alright? I know it can be kind of shocking. I just want to make sure… Edward can be a little thick about all this. I just figured you might want to talk about it with someone who’s willing to listen. Someone who’s not trying to have a dick-measuring contest about kills.” Bella doesn’t know whether to laugh at that or not. She bites her lip as Alice smiles back at her. “No judgment, no ulterior motive. Promise.”

Bella exhales, a practiced move that, even though it’s now unnecessary for her survival, she hasn’t yet been able to shake. “It was kind of a lot,” she admits quietly, her eyes on her feet. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I know it’s what you all have—what _we_ have to do to survive. And it’s… _definitely_ better than the alternative.” She shivers. “But it… I didn’t expect it to feel like _that_.”

Alice nods, exceedingly understanding. “Horrible?” she says quietly, like she already knows the answer.

But Bella shakes her head. “No. _Good._ I… I _liked_ it. The feeling of… of stalking something, creeping up on prey. The feeling of ki-killing…” Bella buries her head in her hands. She almost wishes, for a moment, that she could cry. At least then she could release this pent-up ball of intense energy that’s wound tight in her chest. “I didn’t want to _like it,_ Alice. But I _did._ Am I…” she speaks, voice muffled, around her own palms— “does that make me a monster?”

Bella can’t see Alice shaking her head, but she’s sure she must be doing it right now. “It doesn’t.” A hand touches the middle of her back, the space between her shoulder blades. “I _promise_ you, Bella… you aren’t a _monster_. Your body… it’s a predator’s body, now. That comes with some changes you can’t control.”

“But I never…” Bella looks up and swallows. Alice’s eyes meet hers, and there’s something comfortable about their color, about the red sheen that reflects back at her. Not her eyes — not _Alice’s_ eyes — predator’s eyes. Something else they share now. Maybe she’s projecting, but looking into Alice’s eyes, seeing something familiar in them… they frighten her, sure, but much less than her _own_ eyes do. There’s something comforting about them. Bella can’t quite figure out what it is.

It feels like they’re the only two people… the only two creatures in the world who can understand this particular situation.

And she is _desperate_ for Alice to understand. She hadn’t quite realized, but now that she’s noticed she can’t ignore it. “I never _thought_ that—I mean,” she continues quickly, desperate to make sure her words come across correctly— “when I thought of vampires, of… of _being_ one, I didn’t think I would _like_ —”

“We aren’t fairytale creatures,” Alice cuts her off with a shake of her head, “or something to fantasize about. There’s… eternal life comes with a price, Bella. It always has. What’s important to remember is _you_ — it can’t change you. Not fully. Not if you don’t want to be changed. The creature in you, the part of you that wants to hunt, to kill… it’s a part of you, now. Whether you like it or not. The question is: what are you going to do with it?”

“But I don’t know how to _control_ it.” That’s the part that scares her. The predation, the killing-to-survive… she’d _expected_ that, maybe even been a little secretly excited to experience it. But to have all of this _power,_ to be faced with this immense _strength,_ to walk through the world as a god… how is she supposed to do that, without losing who she is?

She’s not sure how she’s meant to communicate that to Alice. Or to anyone, for that matter.

But Alice is here. So she tries. “I don’t know how…” She gestures, a little helplessly. “This strength, this speed, it’s all… it’s _nice,_ but… there was a hiker in the woods, yesterday. Did Edward tell you?” Alice shakes her head. “I almost… I almost killed him. I was _so close_ to killing him.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I stopped myself.” She pauses. “Or Edward stopped me.” Another pause. “Or I stopped because of him. I’m not sure anymore. It all happened so fast, it—it’s hard to remember.”

“You could have torn Edward apart to get to that hiker.”

She recoils from the idea (and doesn’t stop to think about the fact that she had to lean into the reaction, that it wasn’t knee-jerk). “I would _never_ have—”

“You _might_ have,” Alice says with a simple shrug. “Newborns have been known to do far worse for far less. Raze entire villages to the ground, slaughter their friends and family to get their next meal…” Alice shakes her head. “But _you,_ you… you really stopped yourself?”

“I didn’t kill him.” It’s not the answer to the question Alice was asking, but it’s the only one she’s in a position to provide.

“Then that tells me all I need to know.”

The vote of confidence is nice, but not exactly reassuring. “But what if I’m not strong enough, next time?” It’s a real possibility. No one else seems to be as worried as she is that the next time she’s faced with a similar decision she may not come out on the right side of it. No one is actively considering this but her. It’s like, they all trust who she is, they’re forgetting that now _who_ she is is tied with _what_ she is, in such a way that the two can no longer be separated. “What if I make a mistake and it costs someone their life?”

To her credit, Alice seems to genuinely consider her answer before she responds. “There’s a risk,” she finally says; “there’s always a risk. Even with older vampires. You’ve seen it with Jasper, obviously. It might seem like the rest of us have our… _condition—_ under control, but that’s not always true. You haven’t seen the worst of it. You don’t see the days leading up to a hunt, when the hunger gets so bad you can barely see. You’ve seen Edward, when he feels like he might lose control, but you’ve never _really_ seen one of us lose ourselves. You haven’t seen us when the hunger takes over.”

“Yeah, weirdly, this isn’t making me feel a lot better.”

Alice laughs at that. “Well, it _should._ I’m trying to build comradery here, Bella.”

“All you’ve really told me is that I’ll never have the killer instinct part of myself entirely under control.”

“I thought you wanted me to be honest with you.”

Bella swallows. “I _do._ Of _course_ I do, but—”

“Well, this is the truth. The truth of us; the one you haven’t heard yet. The one Edward doesn’t want to tell you about.” Alice seems to take a breath, to steady her shoulders. “It’s a battle. Every day is a battle. Even when we think we have it under control… you never know what might trigger an episode. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere. And the older we get, the better we get at recognizing the warning signs, or ignoring the slights that would have set us off at the beginning.” She’s staring down at her own fingers, now. She has been for some time. They twist together tightly; it almost looks painful. Or at least, it would have looked painful, were it anyone but Alice prying her own fingers apart and sealing them back together.

“I almost killed you,” Alice whispers into the silent room. “When I turned you, I almost—”

“You _never_ would have—”

“You don’t know that, Bella.” Her words must come out a little sharper than intended, because when Bella flinches back away from her Alice is quick to grasp her hands and pull her back in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… I was trying to _help._ I just meant… we’ve all been there, we’ve all… we’ve all experienced that spiral, the feeling like your body isn’t yours, anymore; like you’re screaming at it to do something but it has a mind of its own, like it’s going to do what it wants to do and you’re powerless to stop it. The fact that you’re only a _day_ old and already you’re showing this level of self-control mid-hunt, mid-bloodlust?” Alice shakes her head. Her hands feel warm where they clasp Bella’s in her lap. “It means you’re _strong_ , Bella. This thing isn’t going to change you.”

“You really think so?” The question is barely more than a whisper; like she can’t bear to ask it any louder, lest asking it casts a curse over their conversation and makes it untrue.

“You aren’t a monster, Bella. I promise. And I’ll—” she squeezes Bella’s fingers— “we’ll help you. We _all_ will. We’ll teach you how to hunt, how to manage the hunger, how to make things easier for you. There’s no promises you’ll be able to enter the human world any time soon, but… with time. Everything with time.”

Time. It seems like all she has these days is time. Endless, vast quantities of it, spreading out in front of her. An impossibly wide terrain with an unreachable horizon.

Everything with time, Alice promises. Bella has no reason to disbelieve her. “Thank you,” she ends up saying with a slight smile. “I think I needed this. To get away from everything and just…” She trails off, but Alice seems to understand.

She squeezes Bella’s fingers again. “I thought you might. I’m glad I could help.”

“I wish you had been there with me, yesterday.”

Alice laughs, and for some reason she shifts away for the first time all afternoon. She uses both hands to push at her hair, tucking it behind her ears. It’s a peculiarly _girlish_ move, and makes her look disconcertingly young. Bella is struck with the reminder that Alice is only a teenager. A few years older than her biologically, maybe, but despite her elongated life, she’s been perpetually stuck at 19 years-old for nearly a century. “Why me?” Alice asks.

Bella stares at her strangely. She looks almost… _shy,_ but not quite, and Bella can’t quite figure _why_. “You might have seen it all coming,” she says with a shrug, her eyes still searching Alice’s face for something like answers. “You might have been able to stop me. To stop it from happening at all.”

But Alice shakes her head, still looking away. It feels like a curious gesture. “I doubt I would have been much help. I haven’t… I haven’t really had any visions, recently.”

 _That’s_ surprising. “What?” Bella sits up a little straighter. “ _Why_?”

“Well I’ve…” Alice shifts, glances away— “I’ve been ignoring them.”

There’s a beat, a breath, before Bella practically whispers: “ _Alice_ —”

“I know.” She tugs a hand roughly through her hair. “I _know_ , okay? Carlisle’s been on my case enough about it.”

Bella wishes Alice would look at her. She doesn’t understand why she won’t, now, when it seemed like all she could do before was maintain eye contact. “Is that… is it _safe_ for you to ignore them?”

“I don’t know.” Alice glances up at her (she looks so small, all of a sudden), but looks away just as quickly, her eyes darting back down. “I’ve never done it before.”

“Please tell me it isn’t because of—”

“No,” Alice is quick to deny. But her eyes can’t quite meet Bella’s, and so it rings hollow.

“Are you sure?”

Alice bites her lip. “Well… it’s not _entirely_ because of you _._ It’s…” a glance up, then back down— “complicated. I guess.”

“Alice… You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened to me. I made my own decisions. I believed James had my mom, I followed him to that dance studio, I—”

“But I couldn’t save you.” It feels as if everything in the room stops moving, even Bella herself. Not a mote of dust shifts in the late afternoon breeze.

Then Alice inhales, and time restarts. She finally looks up at Bella, her eyes wide and red and shining. “I… I didn’t see it coming, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t save you.”

“You think the visions failed you. So you don’t want to trust them anymore.”

“Yes.”

“But—” Bella frowns— “that’s not how they work, is it?”

“No. It isn’t.”

“So why are you blaming yourself when it isn’t your fault?”

“Because…” Alice looks frustrated for a moment, but frustrated with herself more than anything. She pushes a hand through her hair and stands from the couch. “Because if I can’t blame myself then… then I have to accept that this is _real._ ” She gestures to the space between them. “That I _did_ this to you, that this is… this is what you are now.”

Bella tries to smile and goes for levity. “It’s not so bad, though; is it? There are some upsides to living forever.”

But Alice seems determined to wallow. “It’s a curse,” she says. “I damned you.”

It’s more than a little frustrating.

“That’s dramatic.”

“You were freaking out _five_ minutes ago because you’re terrified you might kill someone if you lose control. That wasn’t something you worried about last week. And _I_ did that to you.”

But… okay, that’s _true,_ but just because it’s _true_ doesn’t mean it’s the _only_ thing that’s true. There are a lot of factors in this situation, right now. The fact that Alice was the one who turned her is, frankly, the _least_ of Bella’s concerns at the moment. “I know that you did what you had to do. I understand—”

“You should hate me,” Alice says quietly, turning so her back is facing Bella. Her shoulders are slumped, her head hanging low. Her arms wrap around her own torso, a hugging gesture meant to provide self-comfort.

Bella has to scoff at her. “It would make you feel better if I did, wouldn’t it? So your self-pity could at least be _justified_. If I don’t hate you, then you have no reason to hate yourself.” Alice doesn’t respond to that. But Bella’s blood is near-boiling, now, and at this point it’s too late; there’s no way for her to stop herself. “But what about _me,_ Alice? What about how _I_ feel? Do you ever think that me hating you might make all of this a lot harder for _me?_ Or have you not stopped thinking about yourself for even a second since you bit me?”

That, at least, sparks a reaction. Alice whips around on her heel, her eyes flashing. “I’ve _never_ stopped thinking about you. I _know_ that I did this to you. Don’t try to say—”

“But this is still _all_ about you. It has been since I woke up! You’ve been beating yourself up, killing yourself over how _you_ feel; it’s all about _your_ guilt, _your_ anger, _your_ punishment.” Bella stands at once, and in the blink of an eye she’s right in front of Alice. She doesn’t tower over her, she’s not tall enough to do that, but the way Alice shrinks away from her makes her feel like that’s what’s happening. She’s too angry to feel guilty about it. “Maybe I need _help,_ Alice. Maybe I need a _friend,_ someone to talk to who isn’t going to turn every conversation into a one-woman-pity-party. You ever think about _that_? That maybe this all has been really difficult for people _other_ than you?”

She’s out the door a second later. Doesn’t even pause to think about where she’s going or what she’s going to do. She can’t stay in that house any longer. She can’t keep looking at Alice, at her sad eyes and her defeated posture. She can’t keep pretending that things are normal, between them; can’t keep pretending that every word out of Alice’s mouth, every step, every hand movement, is mired by her own guilty conscious. It’s a stifling environment for anyone to be in, and she can’t stand it for a moment more.

Alice tries to call after her, but Bella doesn’t listen. She slams the door to the cottage shut behind her, so hard that the entire frame of the house rattles and the glass panes in the window directly to the right of the entranceway shatter. It’s startling, like a child throwing a hefty rock through a thin layer of ice on a pond, breaking up the sound and serenity of a chilly winter morning.

Bella turns on her heel and stalks away, refusing to look behind her.

Alice doesn’t follow.

____________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/).


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